A Thistle, Not A Rose
by Mistress Peregrine
Summary: Catherine Stafford is the Duke of Buckingham's daughter. After his execution she is the last of the Stafford family, all alone at court but for Anne Boleyn, her friend from olden times. The cunning young woman rises high at Henry's court. Charles Brandon loathes her just as much as she despises him. If they just didn't feel so irresistibly drawn to each other...
1. Chapter 1

Hello!

I have been inspired by the TV show The Tudors (and its fantastic actors) but I also include some historical elements that are not to be found in the show.

I decided that the girl we see with Charles Brandon on the Tudors is Mary Stafford. And I changed the circumstances of their affair, inspired by the true historical event that has been changed for the show.

My main character is not necessarily an OC, she is Mary Stafford's younger sister Catherine. (daughter of Duke of Buckingham)

I took some liberties with the ages and birthyears to make the story acceptable in modern society. (no marriage for 12-year-olds here!)

Please leave a review, I appreciate both praise and censure. ;)

* * *

 **Thornbury Castle, Gloucestershire**

 **~o~**

 **Catherine Stafford**

"Catherine!" her lord father called her and little Cat flew down the dark oaken staircase.

"Yes, Lord Father?" she curtsied in her black mourning dress.

"Now that your Lady Mother has passed away, it has been decided that you will be sent to the French court. Your education is thorough enough but you have to learn courtly etiquette and protocol."

 _The French court._ Her Lord Father hated the French with a passion because they had taken all the English possessions in the war that lasted a hundred years. Why would he send her there?

"Lord Father, may I speak?" she asked, shily. Edward Stafford was not the most patient of men.

He nodded.

"Why the French Court, my lord? I always thought-"

"It is the king's wish. He once sent his own sister, the Queen Mary, to France. Now that she has married this man of low birth, the king needs other ways to keep the French at bay. We need peace, little Cat. And a few noble maids of honour from England will appease the French king. Just see that you do not appease him too much."

 _I am part of the bargain._ Her father was the Duke of Buckingham, a direct descendant of Edward III. and with nobler blood in his veins than the king himself. She was not allowed to say that outside of Thornbury's massive walls, though.

"I shall go and pack then." she said, although her chest grew tighter at the thought. She was the last one left here. Elizabeth, her eldest sister, was married to the son of the Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Surrey. Henry, the second, and the only son, had married Ursula Pole and lived with her in Gloucestershire on one of Edward Stafford's vast estates. Her last sister, Mary, not so much older than her, was a maid of honour to Queen Katherine. Cat had always hoped that she would serve Katherine of Aragon, too. She was not yet twelve, but her Spanish was better than Mary's.

 _It is France for me, not England. Claude, not Katherine._

"Not now." The Duke shook his head impatiently. "You will leave early in the next year, Catherine. You will need new gowns and cloaks, silver sewing needles, a prayer book decorated with gold. I want you to shine, I want you to outshine. The Duke of Bourbon resides at the French court, and the Duke of Alencon. A french marriage might be profitable."

Her Lord Father looked at her.

"You are only a child now, Queen Claude's youngest maid-of-honour. But you will be beautiful and obedient and pliant. I want you to be perfect, Cat. You will represent our family. The Staffords have roots in France."

Catherine nodded but she felt sick. She was to leave her home, only half a year after her mother's death. And maybe, she would never return home again. _I am a Stafford and a Percy. I must not be afraid._

 **January, Château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye, Paris**

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**

Catherine felt miserable. She was ten now, and Queen Claude's youngest maid of honour...but she was also afraid. She sat on the bed in the chamber she shared with another girl. A granddaughter of the Duke of Norfolk, but with an insignificant father, her own Lord Father had said. She would help her here, show her everything.

"Tu es Cathérine de Stafford?" a girl came in without knocking. That was exceptionally rude but Catherine did not find the courage to say that.

"Yes, I am Catherine Stafford." she replied, in English. The girl was slender and pretty, with dark eyes and even darker hair that was visible under her French hood. She was maybe a few years older.

"Je suis Anna. Anna de Boullans." the girl said, in French again. _Anne. The English girl that should show me everything._ Why did she speak French, though?

"Enchantée de faire votre connaissance." Catherine replied and the girl at the door laughed.

"And I thought you didn't know a single word of French." That _was_ funny. Catherine had been taught French, Latin, and Spanish for years now.

"And I thought you didn't know a single word of English." she gave back.

The girl smiled. She had a pretty eyes, Catherine noticed.

"Come, I'll show you the castle. And then, you will be introduced to the Queen."

"How is she?" Catherine asked, out on the corridor.

"Kind, patient, modest." Anne replied. " _And horribly boring_." she whispered in Cat's ear. That made her laugh.

The palace was ostentatious, pomp and splendour reigned here. There was more gold in the Long Gallery than in all of her father's keeps and houses. The women dressed differently here, too. The gowns were not so stiff, the necklines lower and more lavishly decorated, the skirts were flowing...and Catherine felt horrible in her huge English gable hood. She would tell the seamstress to make her a french hood, as quickly as possible.

"Is it very different from England?" Anne asked her now, curiously.

"Like the sun from the moon." Catherine said. "I need a hood like yours." she admitted.

"You do. That one looks like a house." Anne said with a critical look at her headdress. "Come, Madame Servigné, the seamstress, will still be here, she measured the Duchess of Lorraine this morning."

 **A few months later.**

"Anne! Anne!" Catherine hurried through the corridors of the palace in St. Germain, a letter in her hand.

"Anne!"

Anne was in the gardens. The Queen had no need of their service this morning.

"Cat!" Anne laughed. "You look like a common milkmaid. Look at your hair."

Catherine tucked some of the loose strands back under her French hood.

"Listen, you will not care how I look. My lord father wrote to me. The King is going to come to France! He will meet the king out on the fields around Calais. It will be a spectacular event. The king will bring a huge retinue. My father will come, and my brother, your uncle and grandfather, too." Maybe it was a bit incomprehensible?

Slowly, joy spread on Anne's dark face.

"Feasts. Tourneys. Balls. Oh, Cat, imagine the splendour! When? When will they come?"

Anne was three years older than Catherine but now, she was as giddy as her friend.

"In summer. June, most likely. The kings will meet on an open field between their kingdoms to show their affection, and there will be feasts and pageants and dances. Oh, it will be like a tale!" Catherine was just as excited. She would see her lord father, and her sistsers and brother. And she would see the king. And Queen Katherine. She could hardly remember her face.

They spent the whole morning in the gardens until it was time for their lessons. They were both ambitious by nature, eager to learn and quick to understand. Anne's French was that of a native by now, but Catherine's Latin was far better than Anne's. They both loved to read about history, read theological scripture, and listen to the old Monsieur Daniers when he talked about the stars at the night sky. The French court was cultivated and well-educated and Anne and Catherine were both determined to shine.

* * *

The cover image shows Elizabeth Olsen in "In Secret", I took it from co uk.


	2. Chapter 2

This is just a bit of background story, really, to introduce the characters. Next chapter will be set in proper Tudors canon.

 **The Field of Cloth of Gold**

 **~o~**

 **Cathérine de Stafford**

"The palace is made of painted canvas." Catherine told Anne as they led their horses towards the huge building. They were surrounded by French courtiers, two English maids of honour to the French Queen.

"I want to see the Queen. Is she really so beautiful?" Anne asked. Catherine tried to remember. It had been a while ago.

"She is quite beautiful." she decided. "But she is far older than the king. Six years. And she had-"

"Will you stop your gossiping, young ladies? It is most inappropriate. Lady Catherine, Mistress Anne. I do not want to report to your noble parents…"

The governess, Lady Carter, was half English, half French, and two halves strict. Anne and Catherine kept their mouths shut and smiled.

Anne's father was the ambassador in France, so he rode with Francis I. Cat's father was the highest peer in England and he rode at the king's side. His left side, for at the king's right rode a tall, handsome man dressed in velvet with a heavy golden chain of office. _This must be the arrivé that Father talked about._ The son of a knight had received a dukedom years ago. He was the king's closest friend...and his good brother. He had married Mary Tudor, the king's beautiful sister. She was not here, though. Cat had heard rumours about her marriage...and the reasons why she chose to live in Suffolk and not at court.

Next to her father and the upstart, two dozen other noblemen rode in their finest velvets and silks with jewelled caps.

"They look like wild animals in a menagerie." Anne whispered and she was right. With their feathered caps, their fur cloaks and colourful doublets, the dukes and earls and knights looked exotic. The Queen of England rode a little behind, with her own trail of noblewomen, amongst them Catherine's sister, Elizabeth and her good sister, Ursula. _Useless Ursula._ That's what they used to call her, Mary and Cat. She would have to remember to call her Countess of Stafford now. Cat looked hard but she couldn't find her sister Mary amongst the Queen's ladies. _Is she ill?_ Mary was self-opinionated and haughty but she could also be funny and entertainingly foolish. She loved playing truth or dare...and she loved to play with boys. Men. Elizabeth was just as haughty, even more so since her wedding. But she knew no jokes, hated playing and liked embroidery and soft harp music. She was ten years older than Cat and had always reminded her of that. Henry was only a year younger than Elizabeth, and he was kinder but had never shown much interest. She was only a little girl, after all. He was already an earl. Earl of Stafford, the king had named him on his wedding day. Cat caught a look from her lord father and focused. _I should not dream so much._

She looked at the king, the English king, and smiled. An empty smile, her courtier smile. She had practised it in front of the mirror half a million times. Her eyes sparkled when she smiled, not quite like emeralds but maybe like pale jade. She was the only one with light eyes in her family. Her mother's eyes had been blue grey, but her father's were a reddish earthy brown, and all her siblings had inherited that. Elizabeth and Henry had the Staffords' dark hair, Mary and she had the Percys' blonde hair, the colour of wild honey, not quite gold, a little darker. _May bug blonde,_ her father's baseborn daughter had said, Margaret. Mary had pulled Mag's long brown braid for that.

"I greet you, brother." Cat's thoughts flew back to the present.

"So do I greet you, brother." Francis and Henry faced each other, both were grinning- the grin of lions before they started a fight to the death. Francis was tall, dark haired and comely but for his nose which was far too long. Henry was taller even, with light brown hair and enigmatic blue green eyes. He was truly handsome, Cat thought. His doublet was red and gold, his cap set with rubies and emeralds. Francis was just as richly dressed in blue and golden brocade with a black velvet cap.

Both men laughed. _Is this what peace looks like?_

The palace of canvas was splendid. Cat's chestnut mare was dried off by a stableboy and she said goodbye to Anne to look for her lord Father. She had not seen him in more than half a year.

"Catherine." his voice was cool. _what have I done now?_

"Or do you call yourself _Cathérine_ now? You look like a Frenchwoman." His dark eyes went over her Tudor green dress, made in the French fashion, the tiny, lightweight hood that covered only the back of her head, the pearls around her throat and the tudor rose brooch that was pinned to the low neckline.

"Father." Catherine curtsied, the heavy English curtsy, not the provocative French one.

"You said I should make friends amongst the French." she said, now, her heart pounding in her chest. "I have to be one of them to make friends."

"Pretend to be one of them, Catherine." Edward Stafford said, still not appeased. "Your mother would not be proud of you if she saw you now. French. With a Tudor rose pinned to your chest. You make a fool of yourself. You are no Tudor, you are a Stafford. You are a descendant of John of Gaunt through two lines and a descendant of Lionel of Antwerp through your mother. Take that thing off, Cat. You bear the golden lions of England in your heraldry. Not a flower." For a moment, she wanted to be defiant. But she also wanted to know where Mary was. She took it off and hid the jewel in her hand.

"Where is Mary, my lord?" she asked but that wasn't right either. Her father flinched.

"Your sister brought shame on her family. That is all you need to know. Go now, Cat. Dance. That is what you are supposed to do."

Catherine was on her way to the feast when Anne stopped her.

"Cat! Have you spoken to the Duke yet?" she asked, flushed and out of breath.

"I have-"

"Your sister, Mary-"

"She is not here."

"I know." Anne took her arm and pulled her to the side. "I heard something. It is terrible."

Cat felt sick. "What is it, Anne?"

"They say that she...you know. She let a man visit her chamber." At first, the shock was heavy on her stomach. But she was not so surprised. Cat remembered a nasty tale about Mary and some stableboy.

"Which man? And what happened?" Small wonder that her father did not want to tell her.

"The king's best friend. Charles Brandon." Cat remembered the tall, good-looking man. _Yes, that might be true._

"Has someone… seen them?" she asked, both shocked and fascinated.

"No. But your father knew there was someone. He asked your sister- and she admitted everything. Some say her nose bled for a week." Edward Stafford was a man with fury and without consideration.

"What happened to Mary? She is not in a convent?" Mary would hate that.

"No. She was married to a Northern baron. Bergavenny. As his third wife. Far below her station but-" _She was no maiden. She was lucky._

Anne did not say it but Cat knew the truth.

"I will never forgive him. Brandon, I mean. Mary was always… But I heard tales about him. Rumours."

Anne nodded.

"So have I." she, too was fascinated. They were both young, clever. Both thought that such a thing would never happen to them.

They hurried over to the dance with swirling skirts.

 **~o~**

 **Charles Brandon**

This was a farce. But the wine was good. Charles took another swallow. _Quite good._

"Don't drink so much, Your Grace." Compton mocked him. Anthony Knivert followed his friend.

"Is this not a paradise for you, Your Grace? All these ladies…" _Indeed. One more tempting than the next._

"My wife, the Queen of France, waits at home." he said, with dignity.

The look in his friends' eyes made him feel bad. _I have been unfaithful to her, too._ Mary had given him everything, had give up everything for him - and yet, he could not remain faithful to her. He had wanted her once, back then here in France. But as everything, she had lost her appeal over time. Mary was beautiful but proud and self-opinionated. She liked to be Queen- and he found it hard to be a step behind her all the time. He was relieved that she had chosen to stay in England.

The king made his way over to him.

"Charles." he grinned."Is this not the most imposing feast you have ever seen?"

Charles grinned back." Your Majesty, I am not sure whether it is the wine I am drunk on or the scenery."

Henry chuckled and looked at the dancing ladies. "I know full well what you are drunk on."

Charles knew the game that followed. "Which one, Your Majesty?" he asked, in a low voice.

"Do you see the lady in the light yellow dress?" He did. Beautiful, with brown hair and light eyes, pale skin and a shapely body.

"I have been present at her wedding. Mary Boleyn. She's William Carey's young wife."

"A waste." Charles said and Henry chuckled.

"Some say that Francis had her." _He does not want her so much. He wants to have what Francis had._ Henry was not good at being somebody's equal. He was a most generous to his friends, jolly, funny, entertaining - but they were all inferior to him. The French king was not. And Henry was not used to being jealous.

"I will send for her. Tonight. But first, I will dance with her."

Henry moved forward, cut his way through the dancers until he reached her. Charles watched from the side. A king always got what he wanted.

A young girl in a green dress walked past him. The gown was French, the hood pushed back far to reveal her dark blonde hair. The girl was beautiful, young still, not older than fourteen, but tall, with a pretty face and a womanly body.

"Mademoiselle? Voulez-vous..." he offered her his hand. French was not his strongest point. The girl looked up at him first with confusion and then with contempt.

"I am Lady Catherine Stafford." she said, in a surprisingly dark voice. Her eyes were a dark greyish green and they were ice cold. "And no, I do not have the slightest wish to dance with you."

The girl did not look much like her sister. And she was not much like her sister. Mary Stafford would have been in his arms before he could have finished the question. _Does she know?_ Judged by the look she gave him, she did.

"I will try and forgive this slight, Mylady."

"I hope you don't." _Just like her father._ Buckingham was proud and haughty without being clever or cunning. He had no redeeming qualities but his blood...and this little doll did not seem to have redeeming qualities apart from her looks. As he watched her disappear in the crowd, he thought of Mary, _his_ Mary, not Stafford's. _She would be relieved now._ The thought displeased him greatly.

 _There are other pretty ladies._

Three weeks later, Catherine

All in all, the whole affair had been rather disappointing. The pageants and buffets and dances _had been_ splendid. But Elizabeth had been rather cool towards her, her father had reprimanded her every day and Henry, her dear brother, had never been more than cordial. Ursula had pretended that she was not existent and Catherine thought about a few new names for her, all of them far less kind than the first one.

Anne had introduced her to her elder sister, Mary, who was quite a few years older than Anne, a woman with a husband, and she was far more beautiful, too. Cat had seen the way men looked at Mary. She had heard rumours about her time at the French court. Some called her "The English Hackney" and said that they had ridden her. Cat knew what that meant. She had asked Anne about her, but her friend had just shrugged.

"Many ladies do that, Cat. It is quite foolish, indeed. None of those gentlemen ever gave her something for it though, I think, so they are wrong to call her a whore."

To herself, Cat thought that it must have been quite hard for Anne to grow up in her sister's shadow. She was not half as beautiful as Mary- but on the other hand, she was more than twice as clever.

It had not taken Catherine long to realise that Mary Boleyn Carey was quite simple. Not a fool or a simpleton, but without the spirit, wit and quick mind of her sister. She was kind enough, though, danced with grace and liked to flirt. Her husband was a lucky man, many agreed.

"Mary was never ambitious, she never thought about the future. She is content to be happy in the here and now and rarely worries about anything. And she falls for men like an oak tree falls for a lumberjack."

"They fall for her too, though." Cat observed.

"Not for long. They are content to have her, to bed her- but they would never wed her."

Anne spoke quite sharply about her sister and Cat decided to change the topic.

" My sister Mary is like that, too. Maybe it's in the name. You know what happened to her afterwards. An aunt of mine was sent to a convent for adultery. I will never let any man use me." she explained. "But father said that I might not have to marry a Frenchman. He said the the meeting of the two kings had no effect and that King Henry went to see the Spanish Emperor, the Queen's nephew Charles, just a week after he feasted with Francis."

 _That_ did interest Anne.

"If he no longer supports France, we are going to be ordered home." she said, quite matter of factly.

Cat had thought about that, too. She loved the French court and she loved the freedom she had here. In England, she would have to marry or she would have to live at Thornbury and wait for matrimony. Surely, her lord father would not allow her to stay at court after what happened to Mary. And she would not be able to see Anne. Her father did not like Sir Thomas because he was only a knight without noble ancestors. But Anne was far quicker, far wittier, far more spirited than the ladies of noble birth Cat had met. And she loved her dearly, sometimes she thought that she loved her more than Elizabeth or Ursula, maybe even more than Mary.

"In England, I will rot in Thornbury until my father finds me a husband. And after he had to waste Mary on that country baron, he will surely look hard and long for a good match for me."

Anne flinched. "I might have to marry a cousin in Ireland. My father claims the title Earl of Ormond and a marriage might appease my Irish relatives. I would be Countess...but in Ireland."

That did not seem to excite her greatly. _I wouldn't like to be in Ireland, either, not as Countess nor Duchess nor Queen._

"Maybe we should pray for peace." Anne suggested slyly.

"We should try to bring about peace." Cat replied and they both smiled. Men were often easy to influence.


	3. Chapter 3

This is a rather long chapter and it spans several years. This is still mostly prologue. I changed Mary "Rose" Tudor's date of death, and the ages of Charles Brandon and Henry.

I am sorry for this, truly. This is an AU, more or less. Anne was born around 1507, Catherine a little later. Henry was born 1491, I changed Charles' date of birth to 1493.

Edward Stafford was executed 1521, I made it 1522 so that the girls are a little older at that time. Again, I am sorry.

Charles Brandon did have a young, wealthy ward at some point (his later wife Katherine). Cat took her place in my story.

Thank you **Light Filled City** for your review!

I do appreciate feedback a lot, so please, tell me what you think.

Thank you.

* * *

 **One year later. The Abbey of Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk**

 **~o~**

 **Charles**

The burial was a grave affair. Charles stood at his wife's coffin, oak wood with inlays of gold and silver.

"Forgive me." he muttered. "Forgive me. I have not been the husband I swore I would be. I have disappointed you. And me, too. I thought I could be better." He remembered his wife's last words. _You are incapable of being faithful, Charles. No woman will ever be enough for you. And I will leave you now._

Frances and Katherine, their daughters stood in the empty church, silent. Their son was still too young. A boy in the cradle, no more. Charles would soon reach his thirtieth year. A widower, the king's good brother, a man in his prime with three children and a vault filled with gold. And yet, for once, he did not think about remarrying. He grieved. Not so much for her, he did not love her. He grieved for everything he should given her, he grieved for all the pain he had forced her to bear silently, jealousy, shame.

"It is not your fault, Charles." Henry had come in silently and put a hand on his friend's arm.

 _Maybe not. But I am still guilty._

 **February, another year later,** **Château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye,** **Paris**

 **~o~**

 **Cathérine**

"Will you write to me?" Catherine stood in the courtyard with Anne.

"Every day, Cat. Promise that you will reply to every single letter." Anne replied. Neither of them cried, they were made of tougher stuff. But they were both sad. Anne was ordered home. She was to marry a Piers Butler, an _Irishman_. And there was war in the air. French-English war. And Thomas Boleyn was a wiser man than Edward Stafford. Cat knew that her father still thought about a French wedding. Influence on the continent tempted him - although it were the French he was about to sell his daughter to. There were offers enough, she had Plantagenet blood after all, was the king's cousin through her father's bloodline.

But Cat was not so sure what she wanted. She thought she did not want to marry at all, she liked being on her own here in France.

"I will write to you every day." She promised solemnly and Anne laughed.

"My dearest friend." she whispered, squeezed Catherine's hand and then climbed onto her horse with elegance. Her father looked at them with eagle eyes.

"Farewell, Lady Catherine." he greeted her cordially but not warmly.

"Farewell, Sir Thomas."

 **May, the same year. Paris/ London**

 **~o~**

 **Cathérine**

The days at court were long and lonely without Anne. Her letters were frequent though, and they discussed poetry, theology and politics in French, Latin, and English.

Anne seemed to find the English court far inferior to the French in splendour, comfort and wealth, but she wrote that Henry was just as intellectual and learned as Francis, but better looking. Catherine would have given her best dress to be able to go to England as well. She was tired of playing the Frenchwoman in France. She was reads to be the English lady at home. _Home._ She did not even know what she meant. Thornbury? Maybe not. Perhaps Penshurst, warm and airy. But maybe she meant something else entirely, something she could not quite put her finger on.

"Mademoiselle Cathérine? Cathérine de Stafford?" A page was looking for her.

"Ça c'est moi." Catherine got up from her window seat.

"There has been a letter for you." the boy said, blushing. Cat looked to Queen Claude and took the sealed scroll from the page.

"You can go and read it outside, Cathérine." Claude was a kind mistress.

The letter was from her father. She was ordered home. The ship would leave the day after the next. A Sir William Bride would accompany her home. That was not a very fitting and proper guard but it would have to serve.

Catherine told her Queen who seemed to be taken aback. But she gave her leave grudgingly.

"We will miss you, petite Cathérine." Catherine would miss them, too, surely.

The ship was not as grand as the first one had been, and at Dover, she was received only by a small party. Her father wasn't there. Her father's servant, old Tom Cricket was, though.

"Come, little lady." he only said and would not reply to one of Catherine's pressing questions. They had a horse saddled for her and a wagon for her things.

"Where are we going?" Catherine demanded to know, remembering that she was a Stafford after all.

"To London." Tom said but he spoke no other word.

In London, Catherine and her belongings were squeezed into a tiny chamber in Whitehall Palace, furnished with a simple wooden bed without hangings, a table and two plain wooden chairs. And there she stayed. Sometimes, someone came and brought her food but she was not allowed to leave.

An old crone came from time to time, a Mitress Browne.

"Where is my father? I demand to see him! He is the Duke of Buckingham, you cannot refuse me." Catherine shouted as Mistress Browne entered.

The crone looked at her with cool pity in her eyes.

"He is no Duke no longer, child. Dry your tears. Your father is a traitor."

"I am no child!" Cat screamed, but even she heard how childish she sounded.

Was her father a traitor? _He isn't._ It couldn't be. He was the Duke of Buckingham, as noble as the king himself, a direct descendant of Edward III. _And has he not always boasted of this?_ a small voice asked at the back of her mind but she tried not to listen. Her lord father was very noble and the king's councillor. Surely it was all a misunderstanding.

It wasn't. Edward Stafford, 3rd Duke of Buckingham was removed from all offices, stripped of lands and titles. When his daughter was finally allowed to see him, he was a broken man, with frightened eyes. The former Duke was kept in relative comfort in one of the top cells of the Tower of London. Cat wrote to her brother, her sisters. But Henry was not in England, she was told, and none of her sisters replied.

Catherine tried to keep her head up when she entered through the main gate and fought the tears that just came coming. She was only a fourteen year old girl motherless and fatherless soon, too.

"Father." Edward Stafford wore a simple clean linen doublet but his hair was unwashed and his eyes were dead already. He had the Stafford eyes, dark and proud. Her sisters and brother all had the same eyes, an odd brown, a hint of red and a hint of gold. Catherine didn't. Hers were green.

"Catherine. Where is Henry?"

Cat bit her lip. Even now, all her lord father cared for was his son. She wanted to shout at him, tell him the truth. _Henry has fled, Henry has deserted you, just like Elizabeth and Mary. I am all you have, father._ But on the morrow, he would find his end on the tower green, and surely hurting a dying man was an unforgivable sin.

"Henry could not come. He is kept under close guard." she found herself saying. _I have quite a lot to confess on sunday._

Her lord father nodded.

"Good. Catherine, my little Cat. You're still a child. But you can tell your brother something, can't you?"

Now it was her turn to nod.

Her lord father came closer.

"Tell him that ours is a proud family. Tell him that the Staffords of Buckingham shall never be threatened with extinction. Tell him that he shall forever strife to reunite our lands and estates, to take back the title that was taken from me. The Duke of Buckingham should always be a Stafford."

Catherine nodded again. She could never tell Henry for her brother had fled to Flanders to join all the other exiles. But she could do it herself.

"I will, Lord Father. I promise."

The former Duke of Buckingham nodded.

"Go now, Cat. Go home." _Home._ Had he lost his mind? She lived in a small chamber in Whitehall Palace. She had only just come home from France, after all. But Edward Stafford could not help her anymore. Neither could her brother. Elizabeth and her husband did not want her and Mary lived on some pig farm in Yorkshire. She would have to write to Wolsey. The butcher's boy.

When she came back to her cell, she saw that her things had been packed again. Mrs Browne waited for her.

"After your father's execution, you will be sent away to the countryside until the king has decided what to do with you. He does not want any traitors in his Castle." Mrs Browne had been so kind before... _She is one of them. A spy._ She would have to find out more about her. Maybe Anne would know...Anne had not been allowed to visit her and she would not risk her reputation by trying to sneak in. But she did write everyday, told her what happened around her chamber. She would know where Cat was sent, she would know what the king planned.

But no letter came.

Catherine wore her black velvet dress for the execution where she stood on a quickly erected gallery. She had chosen an English gable hood for this last opportunitything to please her father. He was half carried half pushed up to the scaffold. The last two steps, he took by himself. His eyes were red and raw, his skin pale, his hair unwashed and the doublet he wore was stained as well. _He looks pitiful._ Pity was never a sentiment her father had inspired in her.

Catherine watched with the dignity of a lady. This was not the first execution that she was present at but the first execution of a family member. Years, decades before, her grandfather had been executed for treason as well. Different times. A different king. _Will I stand up there one day, too? Is treason in my blood?_ Edward Stafford was accused of treason for many reasons. One was that he had too many servants.

"To thee Lord I recomend my soul. Jesus, oh Lord, have mercy on my soul." The executioner signaled for him to kneel but her father wouldn't.

"God, I beg you, have mercy, Jesus, to thee I-" To servants forced her father to his knees while he still shouted prayers. The executioner lifted his axe - lowered it again. And Catherine was an orphan. The blood rushed out of her father's neck but she forced herself to look. _Look long and hard. This is what happens to traitors. Father was the king's second cousin, his childhood friend and still, he sent him here to die._

It was treason to make Henry VIII jealous, treason to anger him, treason to say that he might not have a son...And her father had done all of that. _He was proud and haughty and bitter._ Her sisters were the same. Henry, too. But Catherine would not go down with them. She had recieved a reply from Elizabeth in which her sister told her toobey the king and be patient and that she could not help help her sister but that she would pray for her. Cat would like to believe that it was her husband, the Earl of Surrey, who had written these words but Elizabeth was perfectly capable of such cruelty as well. No, she had not expected Elizabeth to help her. Mary had replied, too, on paper spotted brown and red. She could not help Catherine, her small household did not allow her to take in her sister. She was pregnant with her third child by now. Her husband was quick, apparently. Mary asked her to sent her jewels and some velvet because her husband thought little of such finery but their Lord Father had taken everything from her and now upon his death, she thought it only fair and right that she should get back what he had taken. Cat ripped her letter into tiny pieces and fed them to the fire.

She had not managed to send a letter to Henry but he would not help her anyway. Catherine was alone, all alone. She wondered how her father did not notice that everything went downhill rapidly. Somehow, she had turned her back on England and suddenly everything she had ever been sure of was gone, had crumbled to dust.

"Mistress Stafford." _No longer Lady Catherine._

She looked up to find the Duke of Suffolk standing in front of her, tall and handsome, with a face of feigned sympathy.

"My condolences, Mistress Stafford." _I shouldn't have refused to dance with him. I was a fool, like father._

"I thank you, Mylord." she smiled sweetly but she could not bring herself to call him "Your Grace".

"It is always shocking when those of the purest blood show the foulest, most impure intentions and dispositions. But justice is served to all." His tone was sickening.

"At least those of the purer blood and those of good breeding and education show some signs of decency. Traitor or not, it was my father that died on that scaffold." Suddenly, the tears came, unbid and unwelcome. She blinked them away. _Not in front of him._

"If you do not have heartfelt sympathy for me, do yourself and me the kindness and get out of my sight. Master Brandon."

For a moment, the man looked as if he wanted to make another remark but then he contented himself with a cool look and a stiff bow, and walked away.

"Lady Catherine." A tall man with dark hair, dressed in black linen decorated only by a simple chain of office walked towards her. Catherine did not know him.

"I am Thomas More." _Sir. Sir Thomas More._

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir." She curtsied. This was the king's friend and she was a traitor's daughter, parent- and penniless.

"This was ill done." the man said. "The court did not act - well, there is nothing I can do about it now. But if there is something I can do for you, Mylady, I would be pleased to help."

"I am no lady anymore, Sir. My father was no Duke, after all."

"Yet, you were not stripped of any courtesy title." He smiled. "Our Lord will judge your father justly."

"And he will be with my mother." Cat added. "God have mercy on their souls."

She hesitated. "What is - What will happen to me now?" she asked him.

He gave her a sympathetic look. "The cardinal and the king have decided." _The butcher's boy and the ursuper._ She thought, with some hatred and then scolded herself for it. She would not win like this.

"You will spend the summer on one of your father's estates." Sir Thomas continued. "A governess will accompany you and you will have servants to tend to your needs. The king will decide on your future later."

"When it pleases him." Catherine said, too sharply.

"Your Father's deeds - well, Henry is still young but he is righteous. He cannot tolerate treason."

"I understand." She didn't, really.

"The estate is in Oxfordshire, nothing grand, I fear, but surely good enough to live there for a while." Catherine had never been to Oxfordshire. She did not even know that her father had possessions there. Had had possessions there. Suddenly, the penny dropped. The Staffords were popular in Gloucestershire, in Kent, in the North and in Wales. In Oxfordshire, she knew no one and no one was like to help her there.

"I am sure the king has been very generous." she curtsied again. "My horse waits, Sir. I thank you for your kind words."

Thomas More gave her a wrapped parcel.

"I heard you are an avid reader." he smiled. "My _Utopia_ is perhaps not new but-"

"I thank you. Whole-heartedly." Catherine smiled. She was indeed thankful for some kindness.

 **Kelmscott Manor, Oxfordshire**

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**

The manor house was not at all grand. It was a former farm house, no more. There was a kitchen, a brewery and some other service rooms in an added wing that extended from the back of the house. Apart from that, there was a dining room just off the central passageway through which cattle had been driven in earlier days. The huge fireplace showed that this had been the kitchen once. But now there were leaded windows and thin tapestries, upholstered chairs and an oaken table. The entry hall was small but the formal parlour was well furnished and of a good size. The windows went out to the street. There was also a tiny library to the back, with windows that looked over the garden and orchards. It was almost empty though, but for a few prayer books and mouldy paper. Catherine had brought only two books with her, a French theological work recommended by Marguerite of Navarre, and More's _Utopia_. She also had her own prayer book with her.

On the first floor of the main house were three bed chambers and a dressing chamber. Unceremoniously, Catherine took the Lord's bedchamber. Mistress Browne moved into one of the smaller chambers grudgingly.

With them, Old Tom Cricket, her father's servant, had come. There was a cook, a serving wench called Madge, another maid called Kitty, and a boy from the village, Harry. Catherine had a yearly allowance of 25￡ and had wondered why exactly she had a _yearly_ allowance if she was to stay only until autumn. Those 25￡ were not enough to pay a gardener, a groom, and washerwomen, so her few servants had to suffice. There were fields and a woodland behind the manor house that belonged to her, too. It was not grand, it was not London, but it was hers.

The first weeks were bad. She was bored and angry, read through the same books again and again, did needlework and wrote pleading letters to the King, Sir Thomas More, her brother-in-law, even to the Cardinal. But she spent far more time writing letters than reading some, few replies came back, and those that she read were not at all encouraging. The Cardinal had replied that patience was a lady's virtue. Sir Thomas had been kinder but his letter had the same message. Her brother-in-law and the king did not reply at all. After a few months, Cat stopped waiting. Instead, she went out for walks in her shabbiest dress, picked flowers and strawberries, rode her mare across the fields without supervision. It was not what she wanted but it was better than death.

She sometimes rode into the village, too, where her popularity was growing, and she gave alms to beggars and young mothers. She skipped her meat course on most days for that. Her table was simple, vegetables, mostly, some fish and poultry. Fruit for dessert, not more than two goblets of wine. She had drunk a whole flagon on one of the first evenings and then, she had retched it all up. She was careful with wine since then. The servants made ale in the brewhouse, as well as mead and cider from her own apples and Catherine gave some bottles to the village people.

When September came, she was more tense than usual but no rider came, no letter asked her to go to court, and she waited. Winter came, and it went again, a cold, dreadful winter. Mabel, the serving wench, died of a cold. Catherine still waited.

Spring came but no letters apart from a few hastily scribbled notes from Anne that a friend of hers at court had smuggled to her under Thomas Boleyn's long nose. Anne was not allowed to write to Cat anymore but she did it anyway and risked much with it.

No notes had made it through in winter and now, Cat had many short letters at once.

She watched the flowers bloom around her and when the trees wore leaves again, Cat decided that it was time for a final move. She would ride to Whitehall during the May festivities, exactly one year after her father's imprisonment, and ask the king to show her some favour as her good cousin and Lord Sovereign on earth. She was almost five and ten now. She was a young woman, old enough to marry, old enough to inherit. And old enough to take her fate into her hands. No one else would, after all.

May came and Cat put on her finest gown of red velvet. It was too short now and not so fashionable anymore but she had sewn some black velvet from her mourning gown onto the hem and the sleeves and it was not so bad anymore. She decided against the English hood. The French one was prettier, and she had her fair hair to show off. The king had left her only a few jewels, some of them she had hidden. The pearl necklace with the ruby from her mother, a rope of emeralds set in gold from her father for the Field of Cloth of Gold three years ago, and a golden chain with a stone that had the colour of her eyes, a French courtier had claimed. It was grey jade, dull but not unpretty. She chose the modest necklace. It was modest but pretty enough. She would not win the King the same way her father had lost him. Where Edward had been loud, demanding and boasting, she would be sweet, courteous, and soft-spoken.

Cat fastened her dusty travel cloak around her shoulders and left the manor under Mistress Browne's loud cries. Tom, her father's old servant, accompanied her. There were only two horses and unless she would take one of the pigs, there was no way Mistress Browne would be able to follow them. She was a convenient woman anyway, domestic and lazy with a taste for wine and sugar. Anne had told her that she was the Duke of Suffolk's maternal aunt and Cat had made sure to guard her tongue in the presence of the old woman and the servants.

The ride was long and exhausted her greatly. The stopped by an abbey on the way where the ate well, and they reached Whitehall in the afternoon.

"The king hears no petitions anymore." she was told but she took off her cloak and revealed herself as the daughter of Buckingham.

"I ask you, good man, please, let me in." she begged the guard. But to no avail. She was about to despair when she heard a voice behind her.

"Lady Catherine!" She turned around in her old gown.

"Sir Thomas." Would he help her?

"You want to speak to the king?" he asked.

"Indeed. I am not admitted though-"

"I want to speak to him, too. Come. He will receive you." It sounded almost like a threat.

Catherine waited in the antechamber of the Great Hall until she was called in.

"Mistress Catherine Stafford, daughter of Edward Stafford, former Duke of Buckingham." she was announced and she heard the whispers of the courtiers, saw the fingers that pointed at her old, unfashionable gown, the dusty hem. But they were like ghosts, clouds in the room. It was Henry that mattered, no one else.

"Your Majesty." She kneeled before her king.

"Mistress Catherine." he nodded. "I remember you only as a child." he looked at her.

"Why have you come. Do you want to complain?" he asked, with a mocking undertone.

"I do not seek to appear ungrateful." Cat said, words that she had laid out carefully. "Everything I am, everything I have comes from Your Majesty's good grace and generosity."

"And yet, you have something to beg of me." he said sharply. "Your Father was a traitor and he forfeited all his goods. I was merciful, and still, you want more."

"Your Majesty, my father was a traitor but I was never. I swear it, I vow it, I was always faithful to my king."

"You admit there is treason in your blood? Your Grandfather was a traitor, too."

"My grandfather died for your father, Your Majesty." she said, softly and precisely. "I am a woman, I can fight no wars. All I ask for is an opportunity to prove my loyalty."

The king looked at her with scrutinising pale eyes.

"How?"

"I want to serve Her Majesty, Queen Katherine." Catherine took a deep breath. Would he allow her to?

The king got up from his seat.

"Stand, Mistress Catherine." She did as she was bid. The king looked at her.

"Your father was a proud and haughty person. But it appears to me, his daughter is not. I will ask my Lady Wife whether she has need of a maid-of-honour. Return to your estate, mylady. I will send word after the summer when the court has returned to London."

Catherine curtsied again. He had called her "mylady".

She left the audience chamber of the king. Some of her father's former friends took that as an opportunity to welcome her back. She replied to their whispered words only with smiles. She would never trust these people. Never.

"Mistress Catherine." The Duke of Suffolk called from behind her.

"The life in the countryside seems to become you." he mocked her. "I think it is brave of you not to follow the fast-changing fashions of the court."

"I am quite grateful that you think so-" _Say it. Two words._ "Your Grace. I always find that excessive preoccupation with fashion only dulls the senses and slows down the mind. May I compliment you on your doublet? A fine creation, surely second to none." She curtsied again. The Duke smiled a dangerous, wolfish smile. He _was_ handsome, Catherine had to admit.

"You are very kind to say Catherine. I wish you a safe ride home." He bowed slightly and walked away - but turned around again before he disappeared behind a corner.

Anne ws allowed to write to her again. Apparently, Catherine was held in high esteem at court now. Her bravery was venerated, her beauty admired, and everyone had noted her composure and obedience. Without her father as a potential threat to his throne, the king could become fond of her, her blood was pure and noble and she was predestined to be a Queen's companion. She knew Spanish and French, Latin and some Italian as well and would serve her Queen well. Anne was certain that Henry would call for her. That Katherine would make her one of her maids.

Catherine did not dare to hope.

 **September, Greenwich Palace, London**

"Charles!" The king welcomed his former brother in law.

"I have an offer." Charles' interest was piqued.

"Yes, Your Majesty?" he sat down after Henry offered him a chair.

"I have decided. On that matter with Buckingham's girl. She will remain Lady Catherine Stafford, the title of a Duke's daughter. She will retain some of his lands and estates. Thornbury, maybe. And some others, manor houses and farms. Her income will amount to some 800 £ a year, more or less. Katherine will take her in as her maid-of-honour but she will also be lady of a part of the former Buckingham estate."

That was far too kind for the little thistle.

"Your Majesty, is that not too lenient? Her father was a -"

"She is not her father. Young, pliable, loyal. Her sons might bear the title Earl of Buckingham. She will be grateful. And loyal. There is grumbling in Gloucester and amongst the noble families of old. They will be surprised and content when they see how I treat Buckingham's girl."

"She is pretty, too." Charles said, grinning.

"That most of all." Henry laughed. "Although I am satisfied for now…"

The Boleyn girl was still his preferred bedwarmer.

"What about you, Charles? You are a widower for more than two years now."

He was. And there had been some women...but none of them had been a potential wife.

"I enjoy my freedom." he said. "And the girl is as wayward as a cat."

"Her charm has not swayed you?"

"She never wastes it on me. I am a standard bearer's son,Your Majesty."

"A duke." Henry corrected. "Well, you will love my plan then, I am certain." He grinned devilishly.

"She is a young heiress...too young." There was mischief in the king's voice

"I do not want to marry-" Charles said but Henry interrupted him.

"She is still young, fifteen only. I do not intend to marry her off for a while. But a ward needs a warden. She is ward to the crown now but ….- A game of dice, Charles." Henry took the dice shaker.

"Ten." he announced.

Charles took the dice and the shaker.

"Eleven." he said. Henry slapped his shoulder.

"Congratulations, Charles. You are now Catherine Stafford's guardian. All her lands and incomes are yours. Until she marries."

 _She will hate that._ Somehow, Charles was looking forward to telling her.

"Buckingham will curse us from his grave." Henry grinned. _He wants to spite the father...and I want to spite the daughter._

"And she will curse her warden every day." Charles grinned back.

Catherine, October, Kelmscott Manor in Oxfordshire

She was outside in the front garden where the trees with the winter apples stood. She picked some, too. All the sitting in the dining room or the parlour was tedious, the air inside was stuffy. Outside, the days smelled of fermenting apple cider and fallen leaves. A good smell.

"I see you have become a perfect farmer, Mistress Catherine."

The rider that greeted her so mockingly was Charles Brandon, and he had six men in his retinue.

"I would be a far better courtier." she gave back.

The duke climbed off his horse and strode over to her.

"Why, but you shine like a diamond embedded in green velvet." He took one of the apples out of her basket and bit into it.

"Sour." he remarked but took another bite.

"The fermenting makes the cider sweeter." she replied. "You have surely not come to taste my apples." He grinned at her.

"Why not?" then he shook his head. "No, of course not. I have come to see my aunt, first and foremost. There she is."

Mistress Browne hurried towards them with surprising speed and agility.

"Your Grace." She greeted her nephew. "What an honour to have you here." She turned to Catherine.

"You should offer the Duke a refreshment, child. Him and his men."

Catherine smiled at her. "Of course. It was only the joy to see you again so soon, _Your Grace._ Can I offer you wine?"

"I would like the sweet cider." The duke said. "And wine for the men."

They walked into the house and Catherine ordered Kitty, the maid, to bring the refreshments.

The Duke made a great play of his reunion with his aunt. Once they were done and once he had drunk two goblets of cider and eaten a pear and some plums, he addressed her again.

"Mistress Stafford, the king also sends me to inform you that you are now a lady in Queen Katherine's household."

He got up.

"I need to leave. Stay here, good aunt. Mistress Stafford, if you would be so good-?" Catherine followed him outside to his horse.

"Is that all?" she asked now.

"You will furthermore receive some of your father's former lands and houses. Thornbury, I think, and some others. Worth 800 pounds."

 _All mine? That cannot be._

"Does His Majesty intend for me to marry?" she wanted to know.

"No. Not for a while. You are granted the courtesy title of a Duke's daughter, Lady Catherine Stafford."

"I am no duke's daughter, though-" Cat objected but the duke did not listen. He sat high on his horse now and looked down at her.

"No duke's daughter...but a duke's ward." he grinned.

 _Not him, no. Of all men the king could have chosen…_

"You have my leave to commission some new gowns, buy some jewels. You have some money for your person but I will pay for your household, I will manage your finances and lands for you. Until you marry."

He wheeled his horse around. "Come to court in two weeks." he shouted as he and his men raised dust on the dirty road.

Suddenly, she was not sure whether life at court would be better.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm sorry for the long wait, I had exams to sit!**

 **I thank you whole-heartedly for your reviews!**

* * *

 **October, Whitehall Palace, London, 1524**

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**

She had fine chambers for a maid of honour. Most of them had to share rooms with the other maids but as a wealthy heiress and a duke's ward and daughter, she had her own rooms, a bedchamber, dressing room and privy in the Palace and a bedchamber and solar in the duke's townhome, Norwich House. It had a nice garden and a landing stage at the Thames and it took only a short journey by barge from Whitehall Palace to the Duke's Residence.

There her comfort ended. She did not have an allowance but had to beg her guardian for every shilling, every penny. He had paid for her new wardrobe but had refused to give her the gold for new books and a new psalter, for her own was dirty and the images had lost their brightness. She had told the Queen, though, and this morning she had she found a full purse on her table.

She would have to thank him. And she would have to sway the king to her side. With his aid, she would get an allowance. Money she could actually use.

She met the duke on her way to the Queen's audience chamber and forced herself to bend her knees into a curtsy.

"Your Grace."

The Duke of Suffolk looked at her with cool blue eyes.

"Mistress Stafford." there was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. She couldn't.

"I thank you for your most generous gift." she tried to bite back the words that followed but she couldn't: "Although by right it is mine anyway."

Now the duke grinned.

"By right you are mine, your wealth is mine...until it becomes your husband's. Be grateful, Mylady. If I were you, I would show more humility."

She was too angry for words and he walked past her with a superior smile. No. He was an upstart and he liked to humiliate her. She would not bend the knee to him again. All power derived from the king. And it was him she needed.

Catherine knew the game of courtly love. It was a dance where you never touched your partner, where some sort of force pulled you towards him but you could never give him what he wanted. It was hide and seek, tag, a most amusing game. And now, she played it with the king. Her new wardrobe was finished and she knew herself that she was pretty. The king enjoyed his affair with Mary Boleyn Carey, but he was not reluctant to pursue another lady as well, especially as rumours had it that the beautiful Mary was pregnant with yet another child. Was it the king's? No one knew.

It all began quite innocently with a few looks, a smile here and there. She curtsied the French way now, low and provocative, and the king seemed to like it.

That night there was a masque, the first one she participated in.

Anne danced, Mary as well, the girl that was supposed to marry their brother George, Jane Parker, was another dancer. Catherine danced, Gertrude Courtenay, the Countess of Devon, danced, and a few other maids as well. The countess of Devon was the most senior noblewoman, the wife of the king's own first cousin who had taken so much of her father's lands. She was also the oldest, not shy of thirty, although she was still attractive.

She saw Cat as some sort of family member, perhaps because she and her husband now lived in a house Cat had lived in once, too.

"Lady Catherine! Now, I must say, you look especially splendid today." She kissed her on the cheek, a gesture of familiarity and rather unseemly considering their relationship. The Blounts were of nobility, though they could not claim noble blood. Her father had been a learned man though, and highly respected at court, and his daughter had been pretty enough to marry an earl although her dowry had not been more than passable. Somehow, all that gave Lady Devon the notion that she was a woman of great importance.

"I thank you kindly, my lady, though it grieves me to hear you say so. I do strive to look especially splendid every day." Cat caught a corner of Anne's smile.

Lady Gertrude was confused. "I never meant to insinuate-"

Catherine put her hand on the lady's wide brocade sleeve. "I forgive you, my lady."

The Master of the Revels interrupted them.

"It will be a splendid dance, a scene from the Ancient Greek myths. You, my ladies, will be the nymphs, beautiful in white and gold, and the lords of the court will be the Greek Gods in cloth of silver. The demons will hold you captive and the Gods will come to your rescue and as a sign of your gratitude, there will be a dance."

It was the same as always, just in different costumes, but the king loved this sort of pastime and what the king loved well was to be repeated ad ultimo. The gowns were beautiful, though very close to being indecent. They were made of heavy, shiny white brocade, the necklines low and trimmed with cloth of gold, the sleeves long and wide. The undersleeves were made of sheer white organza and golden lace and Cat's arms were therefore practically bare almost to the elbow when she raised her arms.

 _This is more frivolous than France._ But the skirts were long and full and perfect for twirling and dancing and the headdresses were light and pretty tiaras of gold and pearls with long white veils of lace.

Mary Boleyn Carey was to stand at the front, flanked by Catherine and Lady Gertrude, who took this as an insult.

"Forgive me, Master Cawarden, but surely the lady of highest rank should also lead the ladies in their dance. The Queen of France used to be the first dancer but now…"

Master Cawarden interrupted her in a respectful tone.

"Indeed, my lady, you are right. But His Majesty has decreed that Lady Mary Carey shall lead this dance."

Lady Gertrude said nothing more but Anne shot Cat an amused look. Mary had gone red though. She was the most beautiful of them without a doubt, her hair lighter than Anne's, her eyes blue instead of dark, her figure shapely and her skin pale as milk. Cat wondered whether the corset hid the growing belly or whether it was just court gossip.

The master taught them the steps and words, and at the end of the afternoon, they were done and returned to the Queen's chambers to do her duty.

"Lady Catherine." Katherine of Aragon was whom Cat was named for and she respected the dignified, proud woman who had suffered so much but never wavered in her faith and loyalty. Her English was still flavoured with the tones of Spain, even after all these years.

"I have been told you speak Spanish?" she asked.

"Indeed, Your Majesty. Not as well as French or Latin, but I can read it, write it and speak it."

Cat knelt on the steps to the Queen's raised chair.

"There is a book of Spanish songs." The Queen gestured towards a pine dresser by the window. "Read some for has been long since I had a Spanish lady."

Cat strode over to the dresser and took the had not been printed but handwritten and a number of colourful drawings interrupted the verses.

She read out loud, trying hard to ban the accent from her voice, wishing she had practised her Spanish more. After a few poems, the queen stopped her by laying a ringed hand on her shoulder.

"That was very lovely." she said, in her kind voice and Cat knew that she would say the same if she had absolutely failed.

"I shall practise and become better, Your Majesty." she promised but the Queen only smiled.

"That is what we shall all strive for. To become better." Her eyes wandered over her ladies, almost a hundred ladies were part of her court but about fifty served her right now, sewing or reading, playing cards or the harp. Mary Boleyn embroidered a vesperal together with a few other ladies.

"Lady Carey!" The queen called and Catherine knew that she was dismissed. Quickly, she strode over to Anne who was writing, whether a poem or a song, Cat couldn't tell.

"She should try to be English instead of Spanish." Anne said.

"Just like you?" Cat looked at Anne's French gown and hood, down at the French poem she was writing.

"Touché." Anne grinned. "But I am not the Queen of England. I assure you if I was, I would be as sweet and English as you, Cat."

Catherine ignored the jibe. "What are you writing?"

Anne put her hand over the writing with feigned modesty.

"Only scribbling. Sir Thomas Wyatt says I could be a poet but I fear he has only tried to be charming." There was a sparkle of mischief in Anne's eyes.

Oh, no doubt." Cat quipped. "But a poem's charm is flighty at best. I do prefer the attentions of noblemen. Have you seen Henry Percy recently?"

Anne took Catherine's hand. "Be quiet, Cat. It is more than I dare tell you."

 _No._ Catherine had thought it had been a normal courtly dalliance, ended before she had come to court, but Anne's face showed fear. _Something happened._

"In the gardens, later today." Anne promised as they noticed the strange looks of Jane Parker. "She is a snake, and clever." Anne's voice was hushed. "She will marry George but I trust her not."

No,Catherine didn't either. Mistress Parker was a wealthy heiress and pretty, but cold as a fish and her curiosity did not do her any good.

"Let me see your writing." Cat said, loudly enough for Jane to hear them and Anne handed over the poem, a sweet eight liner that spoke of love and pain.

"I aim for a sonnet." Anne explained. "But I can't do more than this."

Together they went on, found another few verses and saw that Jane had turned away, bored.

"Sometimes demons dress as virtues." Anne wrote down and Catherine had to stifle a laugh.

Indeed, she was quite looking forward to the dance. It was the perfect opportunity to sway the king to her side.

 **~o~**

Later in the gardens, Anne pulled her over to a stone bench, half hidden by hedges and the long branches of a willow.

"You must swear never to give my secret away." Anne demanded.

"I swear." Catherine promised, irked that Anne thought this vow was needed.

"Do you remember my letters? I could never be quite honest for fear they might be read by others, but now you shall know the truth. Do you remember that I mentioned a gentleman who was quite in love with me? It was last year." _The summer after father's execution_.

"Henry Percy, yes." Cat replied, thinking she knew what was coming. This was not good at all.

"I loved him, too. We were betrothed in secret, he gave me a ring and asked me for my hand." Anne took off her glove. It was a ruby, too big for her fourth finger, so she wore it on the second.

"He has married Mary Talbot earlier this month." Anne said in a grave voice. "He loves her not. But he had not choice. The cardinal told me I was an ambitious upstart and that I should be thankful that he rescued me from disgrace and shame. But I shall never forget it, nor can I ever forgive him."

That was not a very Christian thing to say.

"Wolsey is a butcher's son himself." Catherine replied. "It is an outrage that he calls _you_ an upstart. But tell me, Anne, who else knows how far it went?"

"Only Henry Percy and I. And now, you. No one may ever know. I trust you will help me?"

"To bring down Wolsey?"

Anne smiled. "We are like sisters, you and I. He brought down your father. And he ruined my life. Together, we shall take revenge."

"It was Wolsey who orchestrated my father's downfall?"

"It was. Him most of all. Sir Thomas More objected, but he was the only one."

Not even the Dukes and Lords of old had tried to save him, that must have stung most. They were family, cousins and good brothers. But Edward Stafford had been haughty and proud, and that earned no love. _I shall be different. I can make them like me well._

"I vow hereby that I shall help you to bring down the man that has shamed you, and my family."

Anne pulled on her glove and smiled at her, a mischievous devilish smile.


	5. Chapter 5

**Second chapter I uploaded today. Please review, feedback motivates me a lot! I am grateful for constructive criticism as much as for praise!**

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 **Saint Martin's Day, The Pageant at Whitehall, 1524**

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**

It was the day of Saint Martin and they all heard a mass that praised their great king's generosity. Then there was a banquet to celebrate this special day, and the king had invited the two ambassadors of France and Spain with their entire entourage. Henry was in a brilliant mood, laughed and japed even with his Queen who had often displeased him as of late. But for once, there was no war, no tension between the great three and Henry was generous and enthusiastic. Cat knew that one of his friends would displease him sooner or later. Charles of Spain was an ambitious man and Francis would not like to be overshadowed by the Habsburgian emperor.

But for now, all was good.

The banquet ended and sweets, nuts and cheese were served but Catherine ate only little. She did not want to feel heavy during the dance later. The signal was given and six of the queen's ladies rose from their seats and bid their queen's leave. She allowed them to go with feigned confusion and her husband at her side distracted her. Katherine of Aragon had seen more plays and pageants than she could count but she still feigned confusion and did so well whenever the king tried to surprise her again. After the ladies, the king left as well with his closest friends, Catherine knew, although she did not see.

She was laced into the white costume and took her hood off so that the handmaiden could place the headdress on her dark blonde waves. She tugged the veil in place.

"Very pretty, my lady." She said shily. Yes, indeed. Now, Cat had the opportunity to look at herself properly and she was content with what she saw. Mary Boleyn was more beautiful, beyond a doubt, but she had the wits of a turnip, if truth be told, and the king liked wits.

She met some of the other maids in the hall and together, they made their way over to the Great Hall. Behind a curtain of heavy velvet, they took their positions, Cat on Mary Boleyn's left side, Anne to her right. They heard voices outside, the Queen laughing lightly.

"This is His Majesty's surprise, I am certain." She said and once again Cat wondered how hard it must be to be Queen. She did not envy her namesake.

Then, the curtain fell and the courtiers broke out in gasps of feigned surprise and delight. The ladies on the raised tribune started to sing of terror and the demons, men dressed in black and red, countered their sweet song with screams and threats. But there, help was near. A group of men, dressed in cloth of silver and shining brighter than any group of stars, made their way through the hall. The demons all gasped in shock and expressed their fear, the ladies sung of hope. Through the lace of her veil, Cat saw the Queen smile at her husband who led the group of Gods, although his face was hidden by a full mask. If she guessed correctly, it were Compton and Brandon behind him, followed by Knivert and others.

They stormed the paper temple with its white columns decorated with lengths of green velvet and cloth of silver, and fought the demons with swords of painted wood.

"I have come to your rescue, sweet nymph." The king shouted and offered mary Boleyn his hand.

"Oh, you have saved us all, good lords, and for that we shall show our gratitude. A dance we offer you!"

"Nothing could be sweeter than a dance with beauty itself. Come now, sweet nymph, we shall lead the dance."

And Mary Boleyn followed her lover down the steps in front of his lady wife.

Cat took the hand of another gentleman, still looking at the king.

"Why, now, that is quite rude." she heard a voice close to her ear. _Not him, of all men._ He must have recognised her under her veil, and chosen to torture her even more.

"You dance with a nobleman and have only eyes for another."

Cat smiled at him, now she saw his eyes, blue and cold.

"Why would I look at a star when the moon shines so brightly?" she asked.

"Well, Henry has certainly found _his_ moon, my lady, and a star would do well not to crave the moon."

His insolence almost took her breath away and she tried to withdraw her hand but he held it tightly.

"Why, now, my lady. You do not want to forget yourself, do you?" The music began and he offered her his other hand. Cat was tempted to refuse him in front of the whole court, but Henry would not be pleased by that, so she took the hand he offered and allowed him to pull her closer.

"You do look quite pretty, if I may say so. The veil brings out the beauty of your face."

That was another outrage but Catherine did not take this one to heart.

"Oh, how kind of you to say so. I agree, this veil has its advantages. Just like your mask. I must say, it is an improvement."

The Duke laughed at that.

"Touché, my lady."

He twirled her around, then pulled her close again, stared down at her.

"Down with the masks!" The king shouted. "Lift the veils!"

Catherine unfastened the ribbons that held his mask in place while the duke lifted her veil. Around them, everyone feigned surprise as the king revealed himself. Charles Brandon stared down at her face.

"Down with the masks, His Majesty said, my lady." he said in a toneless whisper. _As if I would show_ you _who I truly am. You, of all people._ She'd rather walk through the streets of London, naked.

"Only if you put yours on again." Cat replied, with the hint of a smile.

For the tiniest of moments she saw his eyes flicker over her bodice. It was not much, but a girl who had grown up at court noticed such things. A reluctant satisfaction filled her. He liked what he saw, of that she was certain.

"You hold it in your hands, Lady Catherine."

 **~o~**

Life at court was full of feasts and frolics these days. Henry's good mood still lasted, as did the peace with the continent. Queen Katherine was content as well, and Cat had practised her Spanish almost to perfection. There were hunting trips every day, trips in the royal pleasure barge and picnics on the Thames' grassy banks, where everyone was huddled in fur cloaks. Catherine took up falconry again, and outshot all other ladies with the longbow. She was a decent card player, though not half as brilliant as Anne was, but she was learning all the English games again.

She had taken a liking to the queen and Katherine of Aragon felt the same about her, she could tell. The king was fond of her, too. It could have been perfect, if not for the Duke. He still did not grant her a proper allowance, for every penny did she have to beg. She already worried about the payment for the Christmas gifts for Henry and Katherine, and others. _He hated my father, and now that he has cast him down, he means to torment me._ Catherine tried hard to be pliant and sweet, but it was not her nature to be as good as the Queen and sooner or later, her temper always won.

There had been a ball the other day. Brandon had refused to give her silver for the less fortunate and she had not been able to give out alms to the poor, something that shamed her greatly. So she had sold a ruby necklace and given the money away, to the Duke's dissatisfaction.

They had not spoken to each other for a day and a half when during the ball, he had come to her and asked her to dance, no doubt a peace offering. But the blood had rushed in her ears as she remembered his words. So she had replied, quoted him:

"You shall have what I am willing to give you, and that is, at the moment and for that cause, nothing."

Many had heard her words and saw her walking away while colour rose to the duke's cheeks, whether it was shame of anger, she could not say. Perhaps both. To spite him, she had danced every dance that night, with almost every man in the room but him. The final dance she had danced with the king, who had pushed Lord Southhampton.

"You will allow, my lord, if I steal the lady's hand from you for this dance?"

And the king's companion had bowed and left with a smile. Catherine could not have been more pleased.

"You look very beautiful, my lady." The king had said, his eyes on her face first, then wandering over her red velvet gown. Catherine had been delighted. It was the king's friendship she needed.

 **~o~**

It was a fine morning, only two days later, and late autumn sunlight grazed the green lawns and hedges in the gardens.

"Lady Catherine." The king offered her his arm although Mary Boleyn stood not far from them with Anne and their brother, George.

"How are you finding life at court?" the king inquired.

"Most entertaining." she replied courteously, biting back the remark that it was infinitely more entertaining than life had been in Oxfordshire.

"So do you find the English court more cultured than the French?"

It was certainly just as frivolous.

"Infinitely more so, Your Majesty. In France there were dances, too, and masques...but nothing compared to the revelries and amusements at your court. Queen Claude was a kind mistress but Francis was… very _French_."

Henry laughed.

"Many ladies find him rather handsome, I have heard."

Catherine smiled.

"Only the blind ones, Your Majesty. His nose is far too long and his eyes are very narrow. He looks like a fox, everyone agrees."

"A fox!" he exclaimed. "Yes, indeed." he chuckled. "So you are quite happy to have returned to England, to court?"

"I am…" she hesitated on purpose. He would ask her.

"Is there an obstacle to your happiness, Mylady?" Catherine looked down demurely.

"No, I should not have- forgive me, Your Majesty."

But now, the king wanted to know. _He might wear a crown but he is just like every other man._

"I am rather ungrateful, I fear, for His Grace, the Duke, was so kind to make me his ward...Although I understand not why, for he seems to positively loathe me. He makes me beg for every penny, I - Forgive me, Your Majesty, I am in the wrong."

Henry looked at her intently. "I will talk to him. A lady should never have to beg." He squeezed her hand. "You should show His Grace some kindness. You refused to dance with him only two days past, my lady."

"Would it not be improper to dance with him?" Catherine asked, innocently. "He is, after all, my guardian."

"By law, indeed. But he is neither father nor brother to you." _No, you killed the former and sent the latter running._

"Of course." she smiled. "It is my first and utmost wish to please my king." She curtsied low. "And if it pleases Your Majesty, I shall do as you ask."

She wanted to take her hand off his arm but he held it in place.

"Your first wish?" he asked, his odd blue-green eyes pierced hers.

"My greatest wish." now she stared back openly, the French way.

She thought he was about to say something when his gaze suddenly wandered to something behind her. _Mary._

"I am always pleased to reward a loyal and faithful subject." he said, and smiled, but she knew that it had been something else he had wanted to say originally. "Be kind to the Duke, and you shall reap what you sow. But I will speak to Charles." he promised and led her back to the other courtiers. There was a visible bulge in Mary's bodice by now and Henry's eyes wandered to that bulge from time to time. _He wonders whether it's his child. He wonders whether it will be a son._ The queen's childbearing years would be over soon, everyone knew.

It had not been the triumph Catherine had hoped for, but hopefully, it would do. _Rome wasn't built in one day._ She reassured herself. She would try to be kind. Tonight, perhaps.

They went back in before the sun set, it was colder now and soon, the first frost would be uupon them.

After her bath, Catherine chose a gown of emerald silk with oversleeves of velvet in the same colour and a low embellished neckline. Her handmaiden pinned up her now dry hair under an emerald green French hood and Catherine pushed it back as far as modesty allowed. She wore a gold and emerald necklace and the Tudor Rose brooch her father haid rebuked her for so sharpy. She left her hands bare, it was wiser for the dance later.

The feast was splendid, the food supherb, and the king was as merry as ever. He sent roast quail to Mary and the finest dishes to his queen who was red-cheeked and clear eyed for once. Anne sat next to Catherine and together, they made fun of the great lords and ladies at court. Anne was beautiful in blue with a tiny French hood and a string of pearls around her neck. Mary's affair with the king had made Sir Thomas rich and his daughters and wife showed his wealth.

After the feast, they left the banqueting hall to watch the play in the Great Hall. A dance would follow.

The play was a light comedy, made fun of Martin Luther, the heretic monk from Germany. The king laughed heartily, but Catherine noticed that a few smiles were strained.

After the play, the queen took her high seat, but the one to her left remained empty. The king lead the dance. _Now._

Catherine searched the hall for Charles Brandon's tall figure and found him talking to one of the king's gentlemen of the privy chamber, Sir William Compton.

The man left when he saw her approaching although Cat didn't miss the suggestive look that he gave the duke in passing. _What does he think I am here for?_

But that did not matter. She had to swallow her pride for once. _What does it matter, he will refuse anyway. Then I can tell the king I tried my best._

"Your Grace." She curtsied almost as low for him as for the king. She could hear him chuckle above her and anger coiled in her stomach. _Calm. Think of what is at stake._

She rose again. "I have to apologise for my behaviour, Your Grace, and ask you whether you would honour me with a dance." It was not exactly common for a lady to ask but it would not cause a scandal.

The Duke grinned.

"I know that you hope and expect me to refuse unkindly, so I accept gladly." _God, have mercy._

"I am delighted." she replied, though it did not even sound believable in her ears.

The Duke laughed as he led her onto the dance floor.

"A Volta!" The king shouted and Catherine froze stiff for a moment. _Everything but this._ The Volta was a dance the king enjoyed, but utterly frivolous and it involved far more contact than any other dance. Catherine caught a look from the king to his friend. _They have played me._ she realised.

"My lady, I offer you a piece of advice." Brandon said as he took her hand. "The king might have grown fond of you, although I do not understand why. And he did indeed ask me to grant you the allowance you have begged for." _I never beg._ "But I have been his companion since childhood,he shares everything with me, he allowed me to marry his sister. Do not presume that you can denounce me."

Shame and anger made Catherine blush.

"The colour looks good on you." The duke said with a smug grin, as he put one hand on her waist.

"The king's sister was a beautiful woman I heard. A pity that she died so young and all alone. My condolences."

For a moment, his grip on her waist tightened.

"Mary is dead for near on four years now. Leave her in peace." He forced the words out between clenched teeth.

Again, shame hit her. No matter how much he angered her, the dead should not be used for this kind of game.

"Forgive me, Your Grace. It was ill done." She said, meaning it, and he looked down at her face with surprise. He was so startled that he missed a beat and lifted her up too late. She felt her skirts whirling around as he turned with her in his arms, then he put her down again. She could feel the heat of his body on her skin and his eyes never left her which she found both strange and unnerving. _Perhaps he desires me._ She thought, but discarded the notion at the same time. He loathed her, despised her, nothing more.

And yet, the steps came easy to her as he led her, and when he had to let go of her after the last high note, she almost felt as if she missed his touch. _Nonsense._

He bowed, as it was tradition, and she dipped into a deep curtsy. When she rose, he was gone and she missed his touch no longer. _He is truly disrespectful and has no manners at all._ She danced the next dances with other lords but her thoughts kept trailing off to him, although she tried to focus.

When she came back to her chambers that night, she found a letter sealed with the lion rampant on a striped field that was the arms of the Brandon family.

The letter allowed her to use one half of her income as she pleased, the other half was managed by her warden, the Duke of Suffolk, who paid her servants and oversaw her estates in her name. From her income she would have to pay for her wardrobe and leisure.

Catherine kissed the paper and spun around that her skirts flew. _Yes._ She did not need him anymore, he had given her everything she wanted.

 **~o~**

 **Charles Brandon**

At the same time, the king had a cup of wine with his closest friend.

"You are far away Charles." Henry observed. "Who is it that you want? Or have you not decided yet?" The king laughed.

Charles knew whom he wanted. Green eyes that looked at him defiantly. A sweet voice with a cutting tone. She was beautiful and he found it hard not to stare. But she was also the most wayward, wilful, impertinent being he had ever met. And worst, he enjoyed every duel of words with her, the triumph in her eyes when she knew she had won, the stubbornness when she had to admit that he was the victor. But if he showed her that he desired her, she would use him, drain him, and laugh at him. She respected him not, despised him for the role she thought he had played in her sister's disgrace and her father's downfall. _And is she so wrong? I did not play the dishonourable roles she thinks I played, but I have surely not covered myself in glory._ No, he would not show, he would provoke her further, he loved the spark in her eyes, the way her lips curled into a reluctant smile when he had something funny and she had to laugh against her will. He had given her what she had wanted, though, could not bring himself to use it against her. She had been too _kind_ , too _sweet_. Now, she would be back to being her old wayward self.

"I think I know who it is, Charles." Henry grinned. "She has the claws of a wild cat but perhaps you can tame her." Taming her was never his wish.

"The tame ones prove no challenge." Charles grinned. "I like the wildness in her."

"Perhaps you are right." Henry agreed. And Charles was suddenly certain that Mary Boleyn's days were numbered.

"You granted her the allowance." The king observed.

Charles nodded.

"She will think that she can get everything from you now." Henry suggested but Charles knew that was not true.

"No, I have given her everything she wanted from me, Your Majesty."

"She will treat you as she did before." Henry warned and Charles laughed.

"Oh, I hope so."

For Henry, this was all still a game. The ladies at court were butterflies he chased after and when he got one and broken its wings, he suddenly decided he wanted another. Charles had been like that, to a degree he still was. But he could not forgive himself for what he had done to Mary, although Henry seemed to have forgotten it all together.

The shadows of the past faded now though, and Charles felt the familiar thrill of the chase.

She was no meek rabbit that was his after a dance and a letter. She was different and as wayward as a cat, but that made it far more thrilling. She was innocent though, as far as he could tell, and not experienced. That was his advantage.

The king raised his cup of wine.

"Women. A blessing...and a curse."

Charles drank to that.


	6. Chapter 6

**I wholeheartedly thank you for your feedback! It motivates me a lot.**

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 **Christmas Celebrations, Palace of Placentia, Greenwich**

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**

The twelve days of Christams had come with feasts and banquets and masques beyond count. The little pond in the royal gardens was frozen and many young squires tried their luck and walked on the ice. Catherine walked over the snowy paths, between frozen hedges that glittered in the winter sun as if they had been hung with crystals. The train of her crimson cloak, lined with vair, trailed behind her in the snow and she pulled it more tightly around her chest. The morning was not over yet but for the great lunch and the festivities that followed, she had to go back and get ready soon. She turned around to see how far she had already walked only to find that apparently, she had been followed. It was the Duke of Suffolk who strode down the main path, snow splashing to the sides. She had half a mind to flee into the maze. Instead she forced herself to smile at him. He was the king's best friend after all.

"My lady." he greeted her with his usual irritating familiarity. Catherine did not bother to curtsey.

" _Your Grace_."

He did not even raise an eyebrow but she noticed his amusement.

"Winter is beautiful, isn't it?" he asked, looking at her. "But very cold."

"Oh, indeed. If we don't flee inside quickly, we might suffer frostbite." She said sharply.

Cat did not like his banter, nor his casual remarks. She had heard enough about him and his mistresses, about his wife, Queen Mary, and her sister of the same name. _He does not try to charm me. That much must be said, he knows when he's fighting for a lost cause._ Catherine did not like to admit it but it hurt her pride that he did not even try to pursue her. She was pretty enough, highborn, in fact of nobler blood than even his deceased wife, in all truth, and yet all he had for her was mockery and scorn. _He is nothing to me. I do not care for his opinion of me. Father always said: Lion, do not concern yourself with the minds of sheep. Father is dead, though._

"It is endearing how you worry about my healthy, my lady, but I assure you, I feel the cold is soothing after the heat of the palace."

"I hope you will enjoy your walk, then. It is too cold for me." She wanted to go back but he caught her arm.

"My lady, I shall warm you." There was malice in his eyes when he took her gloved hand in his, pulled her arm through his. "Is this not better?"

 _No._ But it was. She could feel his warmth through the thick quilted fabric of his sleeve, felt his breath warm on her face as he leant over. It smelled of cloves and cinnamon. _He drank spiced wine in the morning._ Catherine raised her gaze to meet his. The duke had eyes as blue as the winter clear sky above them, icy and cool. _He is cold. He married the king's sister for her wealth, he brought shame upon Mary, he never cared._

She wrenched her arm free although she missed his warmth the moment it was gone. "No, thank you. I am not a little girl that has to be taken by the hand."

He looked her up and down. "You know, Catherine, I think that is exactly what you are."

That was outrageous. "I am sixteen, _Your Grace_ , and you would do well to remember that." She insisted but he only smiled.

"Would I really? You are of an age to marry and as it happens, it falls to your warden to make a match for you. Tell me, would you like Northumberland? Harry Percy is married now, I fear, but he has younger brothers. Cousins as well, I think, but I do not seem to be able to recall their noble names. Or perhaps a Welsh marriage would please you? Sure, the Welsh coast is harsh and the landscape is rough and uninviting but if someone can feel at home there it is you, my lady."

Now, it was for her to smile.

"Threaten all you want, but you will not marry me off, my lord, not if the offer you ten thousand pounds." She took a step towards him, and another, until she was so close that the fur of her cloak brushed against the wool of his doublet.

"Ah, and why not? Because I have grown so very fond of you?"

"Because you love to tease me, to torment me. The blood of kings flows through my veins and your insults drip off me like rain off an oiled cloak."

She walked past him now but heard him call after her: "You know, Lady Catherine, I think you are not as rainproof as you think you are."

Fuming, she arrived at the castle. Sir Thomas More was in the yard, it seemed he had just arrived or was just about to leave.

"My lady. How are you faring?" Sir Thomas was always kind to her but Catherine felt as if he did it for honour's sake rather than for hers. He was still ashamed that he had not come to Edward Stafford's aid, that he had not insisted on a fair trial. _Henry's will is iron and it bends them all._ Catherine knew why, she felt why. Their king was enigmatic and people were inclined to please him. There was an air of natural ease around him, and he spoke commands, praise and censure as if he had been born to be king. He was not, though, he was a spoiled younger son, always in his brother's shadow, always expecting to become a man of the church one day, until his brother had died. It must have been like all twelve days of Christmas for him. The king's crown instead of the bishop's mitre, the tall, odd crown of the men of the church. _A king's crown weighs more by far, and it is less easy to wear._ Catherine tried to hate the king, really tried. But doubts came creeping up. Was her father really the man she thought he was? If he had been, why had there been no support for him? Why had the people not objected? Instead, there had been many spectators at her father's execution, and she had heard many mumbling agreement after their prayers. _He was not loved._ No, she had loved him, but she had never known him. _How can I try to be true to my family when I don't even know them?_ Mary was at the far end of the world, it felt, high up in the North, and her letters held only complaints and requests. Elizabeth was at court from time to time but she treated her with cool, distant politeness. Henry was gone, far away in Flanders,too cowardly to return. His wife had fled to her family who tried to have the marriage annulled on grounds of precontract. Henry had been promised to a Percy, they claimed, and the king was inclined to give in. Whom did she have left, indeed? Anne. Anne was her friend, her confidante, her sister in everything but blood. But she was not her family, she was a Howard and they had been born to be rivals. She had her warden, a man only one step up from a knight in service, an upjumped footman who loathed her with passion and loved to make her life as terrible as possible. _Katherine._ The old queen was kind enough to her but her power faded like daylight in winter. Mary Boleyn Carey was the king's heart now, she rode with him and dined with him, danced with him and lead every masque. The queen had only one daughter and Henry was aware that one sickly daughter was not enough to hold a kingdom as divided as his.

 _All power derives from the king._ Her father would have scorned her for it, but she needed to become the king's friend, and as far away from his bed as possible. _I would rather spend all my days in Oxfordshire than one night in the king's bed like a whore._ Everyone knew what happened to mistresses. They were spoiled goods for every lord with pride, the target of mockery, pity and malice. Mary would know that soon enough. Her star would fall, as sure as the sun would rise on the morrow.

"I am very well, thank you, Sir." _Courtesy is my armour. The only protection I have and it serves me little enough. I cannot afford to be haughty and proud, no more than my father could._

She inquired about Sir Thomas's health, about the wellbeing of his wife and many children, about the progress his eldest daughter, Margaret, made in Greek.

"She is an immaculate example of diligence and assiduity. She never neglects her studies but she does well to concentrate on her domestic duties as well."

"I hear only good things about her, Sir, I would love to meet Mistress Margaret one day."

Sir Thomas nodded. "And you shall. Do you still practise your Greek?"

 _Greek will surely help me here._

"Not since then, Sir, I do not have the books anymore, and I fear I lack the time as well."

That seemed to taken him aback. "I am not pleased to hear that. Of course you know, my lady, that abandoning your studies is not sign of great perseverance."

 _As you might know, Sir, that Greek is a language that has to be studied diligently and that a lady in waiting has other duties than your well-protected daughter._ Life was not fair but there was no use in complaining.

"I shall return to my studies when I find the time, Sir. You are good to remind me."

"I will send you the necessary books."

Catherine curtsied and expressed her gratitude eloquently when she saw the duke striding towards the castle. _A short walk indeed. There's one you should teach about perseverance, Sir Thomas._

As quickly as she could without being impolite did she flee from another encounter. This one had been all she could stomach before lunch.

 **~o~**

They sat at the ladies' table, not far from the dais, most of them dressed in gold and shades of red if their families could afford it. Jane Seymour was swallowed by a gown of crimson and sable. Only Mary Carey stood out in pale blue while her sister wore green so dark that it was almost black. It was a gown tailored in the French fashion and the golden B on a pearl string was the only jewellry she wore around her long slender neck. To comply with the custom at court, Catherine wore red, embroidered with holly leaves in emerald green thread and thread -of-gold. It had been an expensive gown and she was careful not to spill anything. It was worth it though, she thought, when she noticed the looks. A ruby hung from her neck that rested on her pale skin right above her breasts and she had pushed back her red silk French hood. Not many ladies wore it yet, Anne did always, Mary usually, Jane Seymour never, the pious milkmaid. Jane Parker emulated the upcoming fashion but did not wear it well, she did not push it back far enough and her features appeared even finer and slyer without the heavy hood to balance them.

The Queen was no longer beautiful or graceful but her figure commanded respect and her posture was that of a queen even if her appearance was no longer. She had grown stout and shrunk, it seemed, even though she had never been tall. Her auburn hair had almost entirely faded to grey and the wrinkles around her eyes never disappeared. _She forced herself to laugh and smile too often._ The king did not waste a look on her, why would he? She would be there, as sure as morning, always by his side when he needed her, looking away when he wanted her to. In her youth, Catalina of Aragon had been so lovely that she would have put all of them to shame. Now, though, even the foxish Jane Parker was prettier.

"Lady Catherine." Mistress Anne Stanhope, a girl of her age with dark hair and captivating hazel eyes, sat next to her.

"There are rumours that Sir Edward Seymour is mad with love for you."

Catherine knew these games.

"Oh, Sir Edward?" she whispered back. "You do not fool me, Anne, he has eyes only for you and you know it."

The girl had the grace to blush. "Do you think so?" She looked at Sir Edward, a handsome gentleman and brother to Jane Seymour, but without great inheritance and utterly insignificant in Cat's eyes. For a Mistress Stanhope he had a certain appeal though.

"Anne, don't stare at a gentleman, it is rude." Lady Mary Norris, the wife of Sir Henry Norris, scolded the girl softly. She was a cousin of Anne's, Cat knew, of noble but not distinguished birth, pretty but not outstanding. She had been in France with them, serving Queen Mary, but she had returned even before Anne, for marriage. She was pregnant with her third child. Lady Mary had an air of kindly authority so Anne did as she was told with a sulking glance.

"He will ask you to dance later, for sure." Cat whispered and that cheered her up. Anne was only two years younger but she was new at court and very excited.

There were many young, comely gentlemen at court, at some that were not so young but wealthy and influential. Catherine favoured Lord Francis Talbot, Baron Talbot, the eldest son of the Earl of Shrewsbury, not much older than herself and full of mischief. Sir Francis Bryan was even worse, but handsome, just like Sir John Dudley. They were close companions of the king. The Earl of Oxford was handsome, too, but old, almost fourty, and a man of great pomp and a horrible spendthrift, not so close to the king.

The king sent plum pastries down to the table of Queen Katherine's ladies and many rewarded him with sweet smiles and giggles. Only Anne did not. _Is this her revenge? Or is this her family's plan?_ Anne was more captivating than beautiful, she looked exotic almost, alluring, dark. Her most enticing feature were her eyes, so dark that it was sometimes hard to tell pupil from iris, and with a look that made many men stare. _Brandon never looked at her twice._ The king had though, just now. Or had it been Mary Boleyn he had looked at? Rumours had it that their affair was dead or dying, that Mary bored him. _Anne will never bore him, for sure._ They were alike in many ways: Thinkers, fond of arts and music, with a keen interest in politics and religion, eloquent, wilful, stubborn, passionate, hot-headed. _Anne is cleverer than him, though, and she has the mind of a woman._ She was more subtle, indirect. Yes, Catherine could see Henry falling for her. _And her for him as well, if she has not buried her bleeding heart back then._ Harry Percy had been a dalliance, surely, and Cat knew him well enough to know that he was no match for Anne. _She liked his face, his devotion and his title._ But she would like Henry more. _But never be his mistress._ What was Anne aiming at? The crown? In previous times, it would have been impossible. But now...Katherine did not bleed anymore and Henry was desperate for a way out of this marriage that was a prison now, and a threat to his own bloodline as well. If he had ever hated something, then it was failure. And he could never abide the shame it brought to know that he had no legitimate son. _Katherine's throne is shaking. She knows it but thinks she can steady it with strength of mind alone._

Henry's eyes lingered on Catherine for a moment and she gave him a faint, discouraging smile. If men loved one thing, it was discouragement.

The Duke of Suffolk sat at Henry's left, laughing and talking through all twelve courses without ever looking at Catherine once. _He does not desire me._ she realised, suddenly disappointed. Then, angry about her foolishness, she directed her gaze at other men at court. Lord Montagu was still young, not handsome but a descendant of Edward V with noble blood, the newly made Marquess of Exeter was both handsome and of noble blood, but married to the horrible Lady Gertrude Blount. _Those of the noblest blood are mine own relatives._ There was Henry Radcliffe, the eldest son of the Earl of Sussex, the son of Cat's aunt Elizabeth Stafford who had once shared the bed with the king, rumours had it. He was of noble blood but it was Cat's nephew Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, who was the best match. Henry was Cat's age, a year older perhaps, an outspoken young man with a sharper quill than even Thomas Wyatt, the greatest poet at court who preferred poems about love and death, melancholy and longing. Henry's poems were witty and sharp and ironic and would mean bring him into trouble one day.

Catherine had not quite decided whom she would honour tonight at the dance, when the king ended the banquet and the ladies hurried to their chambers like a flock of half-mad chickens, to change into their dancing gowns. They tended to have fuller skirts and lower necklines, and less opulent sleeves than dinner gowns, as not to be a hindrance while dancing.

Catherine had chosen a gown the colour of French wine with sleeves lined with cloth-of-gold.

She kept her ruby necklace but took off the veil and French hood. As a maiden, she was allowed to wear her hair loose on an occasion such as this and she used that opportunity. Her dark blonde hair cascaded down to her hips in soft waves, and it caught the light of the candles and shone like polished brass. She whirled around and noted with satisfaction the distincitve swing of her skirts, the graceful cut of her sleeves, the elegance of the fancy headdress that rested on her part.

Yes, she looked good tonight.

 **~o~**

Catherine walked down the wide stone stairs that lead to the main hall. The room was buzzing with courtiers, high lords and ladies, daughters and heiresses surrounded by gentlemen, young heirs leering after pretty maidens, older men staring with more subtlety. Catherine herself had found a few suitors as well, nothing serious, just the usual younger sons and ambitious upstarts that smelled a good dowry.

Francis Talbot was no different, neither was her cousin, Henry Radcliffe, although the latter would soon marry one of the Duke of Norfolk's many sisters, if the king allowed it. And the Howards were rising these days, thanks to Mary and her sweet face. But those two were highborn and wealthy and well-mannered.

"Lady Catherine." Lord Henry Radcliffe bowed. "You are the brightest star in this dark winter night."

"I would rather be the moon, my lord." she smiled.

"Sun, moon, and stars for me, my lady." He offered her his arm and she took it, allowed him to lead her through the hall, introduce her to this gentleman or that lord, a secretary, a council member.

He paused finally, to compliment her on her looks again.

How kind of you, dear cousin. Tell me, how is my aunt faring?" .he asked him, and noticed his discomfort right away,

"She misses her brother no doubt and her thoughts are with her beloved niece." _And yet, she did not help him, neither did you._ Elizabeth had seen her once or twice, and never talked to her as far as Catherine recalled.

"And mine with her." The air was stuffy and Catherine spotted Lord Francis Talbot, tall and handsome, not far from them, giving her a knowing smile and her cousin a look of mocking amusement.

"Shall I get you a goblet of wine, my lady? The air is dry from all the candles." her cousin offered politely. _You do not seem to hold me very dear, cousin._ But she accepted sweetly and he left her to fetch her a goblet of wine. That was what Francis Talbot had waited for.

"My lady Catherine, I get almost the feeling your cousin wants to have you all to himself. That is very selfish of him, and selfishness is such a sinful character trait."

"You must forgive him, my lord, my family is very close knit. And Henry is so very gallant."

Lord Francis Talbot smiled again, amused by her this time.

"Lady Catherine, you surely do not ask of me to stand here, in your presence, for which I have waited all night, and discuss with you the gallantry of another man? You cannot be so cruel." Against her, she had to laugh.

"It is not my intention to torture you, Lord Talbot."

Francis changed the topic with an elegant smile.

"It is one of the most spectacular Christmas festivities I have had the honour of witnessing." Indeed, garlands of holly and mistletoe, wreaths of pine twigs with red bows and silk streamers in Tudor green and red and white decorated the high hall, the tables were filled with flagons of the best wines, ales and ciders the cellars had yielded, plates with winter apples, pastries, plums and pears made sure that no one had to go hungry. It was an elegant society, for Christmas only those that the king had invited were allowed to be at court.

"It is breathtaking indeed." Catherine smiled. "Although the gardens in the white beauty were just as magnificent."

"The beauty of nature, what can man create to match it?" He looked at her and Catherine was well aware that he had intended it as a compliment for her.

"Indeed. Tall trees and green meadows, clear mountain streams and colourful flowers, what can be more beautiful?" she teased him, forcing him to become clearer. He enjoyed himself, a mischievous smile played around her lips.

"Not much indeed."

He was not one for plump compliments. _Good. I found it hard to keep my wine down with Henry Radcliffe._ Catherine saw her cousin out of the corner of her eye, a goblet of wine in his hand and a look of green jealousy on his face.

"Will you do me the honour, my lady?" Francis Talbot asked, and judging by his expression of satisfaction, he had noticed Radcliffe, too.

"I am horribly thirsty, my lord." she smiled, wondering whether he would be as foolish as her cousin, but he wasn't.

"I shall pour you a goblet myself, sweet Catherine, but I must ask you to accompany me. The vultures are waiting and I would miss your presence bitterly after I fought for it so vehemently."

 _He is slyer than Henry Radcliffe, and more direct as well._ The Talbots were not half as noble as the Staffords although one of Francis's grandmothers had been a Stafford by birth and the other one a Neville. _Well-mannered, clever, ambitious, ruthless._ He had everything a man needed to rise high but she doubted he would prove a loyal supporter. Henry, boring, slow Henry Radcliffe would prove a better ally but also a less powerful one.

She allowed Talbot to take her arm but they did not walk over to the tables where the wine was served. He led her out of the hall.

"My lord-" she started but he turned around to her, a smile on his face. "No fear, my lady, my intentions are honourable. The wine in the hall is watered down and not worthy to touch those beautiful lips of yours." He grinned and took the severity out of his compliment. A servant scurried past them, soft-footed.

"Bring me a flagon of French burgundy." Francis ordered. "And two clean goblets."

The man bowed. The old earl was an influential man and his son both popular and respected.

"If you wish, we can go outside, for a walk only. Feel the snow under our soles."

"My dress would get wet."

"Then I offer to carry you, my lady." He was a charming man, and meant not a single word he said, always joking, jesting, mocking. He was entertaining though and did not have a dishonourable reputation.

"I can perhaps be tempted to look at the snowy beauty from the main terrace." she replied, carefully. The main terrace overlooked gardens and the river, and was never deserted so that she did not fear to be alone with him. However entertaining he was, trustworthy he was surely not.

"You should give in to temptation, my lady. It is Christmas." he kissed her hand. The servant came with the wine and the goblets and Lord Talbot took them gracefully with his free hand.

"You give wicked council, my lord, but this time I shall heed your advice."

"I am honoured, my lady." He led her out to the back of the Greenwich Palace, took off his half cape and covered her shoulders with it to protect her from the cold.

Then he poured her a goblet of wine. They were far from alone on the terrace, apparently others had felt a craving for fresh air as well.

She took a sip of wine, it was heavy and strong and French, no doubt, but it warmed her up.

"You are still unwed, my lady, why?" Lord Talbot asked, quietly.

She looked at him for a long moment. He was tall, dark haired and dark eyed, slim as a lance and well dressed. _His eyes are warmer than the duke's._ she tried to convince herself but somehow, the brown lacked expressiveness.

"You surely know about my family's difficulties. I was not yet fourteen when my father died on the scaffold, hardly old enough to marry. And now…"

She left the sentence hanging in the cold air like the cloud of her breath.

"There was talk of the Earl of Westmorland."

"There was talk of Mary Dacre." she retorted.

"The dowry." Talbot shook his head. "And she is as insipid as the overcooked pease we were served today. I know of course that Northumberland is bleak and dull and boring but I had no idea that the people there were the same. No, thank you, I would sooner become a brother at the Benedictine monastery."

Catherine had to smile. "Ralph was brought up by my father at Thornbury. He was to marry my sister Mary but … later, it was decided that it would be me instead. And then my father was found guilty of high treason and that brought an end to all marriage negotiations."

Ralph had been mad in love with Elizabeth, but Thomas Howard was not a man that accepted 'no' for an answer, and he had not wanted Mary. She herself had been too young at that time, so Edward Stafford had agreed, promised Mary to Ralph at the same time. The two had never gotten on well.

"That was ill done." Lord Talbot said but Cat did not trust him.

"My lord father was a traitor. He died a traitor's death and thereby atoned for his sins."

"You are heir to many of his lands and houses, I heard?" _To what the vultures left for me._

"Thornbury and its estates, a few other houses as well. A charming manor in Oxfordshire." She laughed.

"But they are not yours." He said that very matter of factly but she thought she detected a hint of disapproval.

"His Grace, the Duke of Suffolk, my warden, is so kind to take care of my finances until my wedding."

"If he has the wits of a turnip, he will not allow you to marry" Talbot said. "These upjumped commoners are all grasping and greedy." _Just like those of noble birth._

"I am not sure about His Grace's wits, my lord." she smiled in reply and Talbot laughed.

"He has risen more quickly that decency allows and presides over all noblemen but Norfolk now." He shook his head. "Old Stafford would be rising from his grave if he knew."

"Headless and penniless, I fear he would not be of much help. Let the dead rest. This is the concern of the living, and me above all. His Grace has only shown me kindness." You never knew who listened, and Catherine did not know whom Talbot served.

"You have grasped the ways of court quickly, my lady. Ears in the walls, and eyes everywhere. I do hope you do not mistrust me, though."

"Oh, no, I trust you entirely, my lord." She finished her cup of wine.

"Shall we go back? The dance will start soon." he suggested and indeed, the terrace was almost empty. _If he had dishonourable intentions, he would persuade me to stay._

"No one has asked me to dance yet, my lord." she replied with feigned disappointment and for the tiniest of moments, an expression of confusion danced over his face. Then he laughed.

"It is all Lord Radcliffe's fault, my lady. I ask you now then, Lady Catherine Stafford, will you do me the honour to dance with me?"

She took his offered hand.

"The wine has gone to my head, I fear, so I can only do you that honour if you promise to forgive me my missteps."

He laughed. "I will happily step out of line with you my lady and blame it on my dizzy head." He pulled her to her feet so vigorously that she stumbled against him and had to put her hands on his chest to steady herself.

"Forgive me." she felt her cheeks redden. He must think her terribly clumsy. But when she looked up, there was something else in his dark eyes.

"No, forgive me. I had a cup too much of that watered wine, it seems. Or I am drunk on something else entirely." He laughed. "Come now, my lady, there are a few feet we have to step on."

He was ecstatic and walked so quickly than Catherine found it hard to keep up. In the corridor, they met the Duke of Suffolk, with him were two French ladies, the pretty daughters of an ambassador. Despite herself, she felt a stab of jealousy when he saw him laughing, a throaty, charming laugh he had never laughed with her. Lord Talbot took her hand.

"Your Grace." he greeted the duke with cool politeness. They could have just walked past the three of them, they would not have noticed, but Francis was drunk, Catherine noticed, and the duke was too, judging by his eyes.

"Lord Talbot." he nodded curtly. "And Mistress Catherine." he grinned, the wolfish grin he had reserved for her.  
" _Lady_ Catherine. No one blames, you, Lord Suffolk, you are new to court life and manners." Francis smiled at her side, a smile as cool as the snow outside.

Suffolk did not even look at him, his eyes were fixed on Catherine.

"A pretty cape although perhaps not the most recent fashion in Paris, or is it, mesdemoiselles?" he asked the two ladies who started to giggle.

"You know more about fashion than me, Your Grace." she said in the sickenly sweet voice she reserved for him. "Lord Talbot was just so _gallant_ to lend me his half cape. I am relieved that good manners are not dying out."

She gave the two French ladies a quick look.

"Enchantée de faire votre connaissance, mesdemoiselles." she said in quick French. For a moment, she considered to warn them, but they looked utterly frivolous...and pretty. Very pretty. _Allez au diable._ she thought, with some anger, and regretted it at the same time. _It's not them I'm angry at, it's him, and I don't like the reasons for it…_

The French ladies nodded at her, looking her up and down lazily.

"Trés anglais." one said to to other, meaning no doubt Catherine's attire.

"Well, we _are_ in England after all, it might have escaped your notice." Talbot said at her side, and she heard his anger. "You will forgive us, my lord, we leave you to your two... _companions._ The first dance is over already and I have a promise to fulfil." He winked at Catherine and together, they walked past the duke without another look.

Talbot unfastened the cape he had placed around her shoulders.

"You are even more beautiful now." he whispered in her ear. "I pity the duke." he said then, grinning. He wanted her to ask him why and she obliged.

"Why, because he only has a way with women if they cannot understand a single word he says." he delivered his pun.

Catherine had to laugh at that, although she tried to hold it back. It rang through the whole corridor, no doubt he would hear it as well, she thought with a stab of guilt. He had granted her the allowance she had asked for... _He has also said many despicable things._

"His French is truly poor. I fear 'mesdemoiselles' is the only word he knows."

Francis joined her laughter and when they reached the hall, the duke was all but forgotten. It was late and the proper dances were already over. What followed now were country dances, lively, wild, passionate.

She took her position opposite Lord Talbot who had draped his cape over the back of some chair to have his arms free. He had been wise. The king called for a Chiarantana, a vivid Italian dance with jumps and twirls.

Francis grinned at her. "It seems we will have numerous opportunities to step on someone's feet."

She was about to laugh when next to them, Brandon and one of the French ladies took up position.

Quickly, she counted the couples. The Chiarantana required a change of partners from time to time, when both dancers spun into opposite directions. This meant she would have to dance with Brandon, at least for a few beats, and Francis would get to hold the French lady's hand. He had noticed it too for he darted a dark look at Brandon, who smiled in reply.

"I find it hard to reject the joys of dancing." he said, to no one in particular but the Frenchwoman giggled nevertheless. _She did not understand a single word._

"It all depends on the partner, I find." Talbot said sourly. _He's a sore loser...and I am, too._ She had felt exhilarated, now she was only tired.

The music started and she found herself in Talbot's arms.

"We could just refuse to come together in a quartette." he whispered.

It was tempting, but Brandon had chosen the daughter of an ambassador.

"If you refuse to dance with her, the French will see it as an affront on her person. You would not win, my lord."

He nodded. "Will you promise me to pinch him, my lady?" he asked, only half in jest it seemed, but she laughed anyway.

"Surely, he will be black and blue tomorrow."

Francis twirled her around one more time, then she had to reach her hand to the Duke of Suffolk, who held it tightly as they spun around, her skirts swirling and hair flying. He stared at her with unsettling blue eyes but she held his gaze until Francis took her hand again.

"She understands not a single word of English." he complained as he lead her. He was a good dancer, she found, more graceful than the duke, more playful. But when the time came for him to lift her up, only a moment, she found herself thinking of the duke's strong grip, his vigour. Francis lifted her up and spun her around elegantly though and she scolded herself for wanting to be in someone else's arms afterwards.

She was back with the duke then for a few steps, his hand warm on hers. When it came to dancing, he was like the king: vigorous, feisty, strong, virile.

For a beat, he held on to her waist, then let go of her to twirl her around one last time. Francis took back over.

"I see His Grace is not the most talkative dancer." _He kept an eye on us._

"No, I fear my lord warden finds it too distracting." she smiled.

The fiddle played up, the dance was over.

Francis bowed, her hand still in his. She curtsied deeply and he pulled her back up again.

Their breathing had quickened, it had been a lively dance.

Catherine gazed over to the king, who had surely danced this one with Mary Boleyn again.

She saw, to her surprise, that she was only half-right. _Anne_ Boleyn, not _Mary_.

Suffolk had seen it too. Anne had hinted at it the night before the last, when they had been outside with Catherine's lapdog. _I can rise higher than Mary, higher even than the butcher's son._ Catherine knew Anne better than anyone, had seen her flirting and playing in France. This was no different. When she wanted someone to desire her, she feigned utter indifference. She was a maiden, as far as Catherine knew, clever enough not to waste it on some French courtier.

Her gaze darted over to the queen. How did she take this change of personnel? As she took everything. With calm serenity. _She has the temper of a saint._ And she had suffered as much.

Anne turned away from the king now after a curtsey, left him standing there alone at the top of the column, talked to Thomas Wyatt, laughed, smiled, as if nothing had happened.

Henry was furious. _Is a king only a man?_ That was the question Anne had to ask. If he was, why, then he would fall for her like every other man. But Catherine thought that this one might be different. Henry got what he wanted and surely he would be intrigued at first...but for how long?

"Shall we go for another, my lady?" Lord Talbot asked. "Maybe in better company this time?" He did not bother to lower his voice.

"The quality of the company is surely nothing you can be the judge of." Suffolk was boiling.

 _This is not good at all._ She disliked the man, he had been so unkind...but she did not want to anger him this much. _Because of the king._ she added quickly. _Only because he'd tell the king._

"Forgive me, Lord Talbot, but I am tired. Tomorrow, if you will?" she offered.

"I'll pin you down to that, Lady Catherine." Francis said. "A Volta." he demanded and she smiled her agreement.

"Whatever you wish, my lord. I bid you a good night."

She gathered her skirts to walk past the two men when Francis put a hand on her upper arm.

"Shall I accompany you to your chambers, my lady? It might be safer, with all the wine." _Watered wine._ She was not comfortable with him escorting her. With him in front of her chamber door. But how should she put that into words?

Help came from an unspuspected side.

"You're needed here, Talbot. My French is insufficient I fear but you are as eloquent in French as in English, I heard." Brandon smiled amiably.

"Mademoiselle." He pointed at Talbot. The French lady showered him with a torrent of French words. Francis was stunned speechless for a moment and not at all happy with the arrangements, it seemed

"You are the pride of England, Talbot." Brandon put his hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"I will escort you to your chambers, my lady. You are my ward after all." he said to Catherine. Then he turned his had back to Talbot. "I know one French word, my lord, and that is _touché_."

Talbot was not smiling anymore when he looked at Catherine.

"Enjoy your night." she smiled.

"I would enjoy it more if you stayed, my lady." And the grin came back. He took the French lady by the arm, steered her away. Cat saw them talking to Henry Radcliffe whose French was not bad, she knew... _He is quite cunning._

"Are you ready, Catherine?"

The duke asked, rudely. She did not blame him for his tone for once.

As they made their way up the stairs and down dark corridors, she snapped at him:

"Next time you want to settle a dispute with a gentleman, take it to the tourney grounds or the tennis court. I am not some kind of wager."

Suffolk stopped. "There's been no dispute between me and Talbot before tonight, my lady. You are the reason, not the wager."

 _Excuse me?_

"The _reason_? Forgive me, but I do not see-"

"You do not because you are not half as clever as you think. Talbot has his eyes set on your dowry, lady, if I were you, I'd keep my distance."

"And wait for my one true love to sweep me off my feet?" she laughed. "You might think me a fool, but I'm not foolish enough to think that I will one day find a husband who is not interested in my fortune and name. You know best, don't you? Bought me from the king like a horse in the market square." They had reached her chamber door.

"You have no -"he said, and there was something in his voice that was not anger. His eyes were softer, too, like spring fed pools in summer. But then he swallowed and his eyes were cold again.

"I never bought you. I won you in a game of dice. You and a diamond bigger than that ruby." He gestured at the stone that hung from her neck and brushed against her collarbone accidentally. For a moment, they were both silent, staring into each other's eyes with anger. "And I tell you something, my lady, on this very Christian day, I almost wish that I had lost."

He turned around on his heel and stormed off with long strides.

Catherine opened her door, locked it behind her and sank to the floor. The tears came slowly, but then all at once, rolling down her cheeks and leaving salty sticky paths on her skin.

She was surrounded by enemies and fortune hunters, and she was lost. She did not want to marry but she saw no other way. She wanted to get back what her father had lost, but Henry would never bestow this title on a woman. _What will I do with that stupid title if I get it though?_ It would not bring back her father, and it was not of much use to her either. All she wanted was a place where she belonged but she was like one of those stars that were not part of a constellation, lost amongst all the others. _I have Anne._ She would help her. And the king and queen liked her, too, Henry had called for her, after all, he had not forgotten about her. _I am not part of a constellation, but I can shine twice as bright as them._ Talbot had proven a promising candidate, although his conflict with the duke was troubling. She was not all alone. Talbot, More, Anne, Queen Katherine. King Henry liked her well enough and she was certain she could make him her friend. _Father had not gift for it but I do._ Queen Claude had been her friend, and Francis, too, Mary Rose Tudor had confided her secrets in her all those years ago. _I will not take my father's path, and it is not his title that I want. Titles are empty. I want the position he should have had. A confidante of the king and queen, a companion, loyal and indispensable._ Catherine dried her tears. She might need Brandon for this... _I cannot._ She could go to great lengths, but he positively _loathed_ her, and she was not fond of him either, to say the least. _I will try to be civil. I will try to be courteous._ If he would, too.

* * *

Thank you for reading!

Next chapter is going to have Charles's POV again, and some Anne/ Catherine moments. And we will also see the start of Henry's courtship of Anne!


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you a lot for your feedback!**

 **To clarify this: Talbot is not a character on the show, but from history. I wanted someone of noble blood, like Surrey, who is Charles's natural enemy, and I wanted him to be young and handsome too. (The real Earl of Surrey was Catherine's nephew and ~10 years old at that time^^) So I imagine him to look like Matthew Goode in Downtono Abbey, but with dark eyes, if that helps you.**

* * *

 **Christmas at Greenwich**

 **~o~**

 **Charles**

He had allowed himself to get carried away. It had been Talbot with his smooth English aristocracy face, the finely-tuned insults, the way he had put a hand on Catherine's, as if she was his betrothed or wife. _And she had let him._ Worse, she seemed to have enjoyed it. He was heir to the Earl of Shrewsbury, with Stafford, Talbot, Neville and Hastings grandparents. _A drop of Howard and Percy blood and he would call all the finest families of the country his immediate ancestors._ She was one to fall for old blood and new tricks, for a smooth face and audacious yet polished manners. Charles himself had grown up with the king, had learned to read and write from the best teachers England's universities had yielded, had learned French, despite the mockery of Talbot and his own little ward. Yet, when it came to manners, he was only a knight's son who had risen high, always been aware of his low social rank until Henry had raised him above all others in the realm, save Norfolk and old Buckingham. Charles knew well what Talbot wanted: The girl's pretty white hand, her noble blood, her fortune, that most of all. And he wanted to humiliate Charles, like so many others of old blood and name. _You all came from somewhere, too._ Charles admitted it freel, he was no authority, he was and always had been a man in service to his desires, not a politician, not a diplomat, a bon viveur. The king liked him for this, their friendship rested on their similar personalities, their interests in sports and fighting, their thirst for glory and honour, but Charles was no was not one to debate on theology or fate or law, that much was true, but he did read, he had written his share of poor poems and songs, he had learned to dance and read music just like the king although he lacked the natural talent.

Indeed, he did lack the refined polished manners other gentlemen could put forward, but he was honest, loyal, straight-forward, what was more than you could say of most other noblemen at court. That was the open secret behind his high position: Unquestionable loyalty. He noticed that the time at court had changed him, too. He took part in courtly intrigues as well, his seat on the privy council almost forced him to, and he had developed a taste for power, only natural. But most of all was he still Henry's friend. _I am more loyal to him than I was ever to any of my wives._ He had his weaknesses, but who did not? 'Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.' He did not remember much from the bible, but this was a quote, for sure.

The day lingered in its small hours, a dark night, the darkest of the year if he remembered correctly. He wondered whether Henry had taken the Boleyn girl to bed. Not the pretty one but the other, Catherine's confidante from France with her dark hair and colouring, those black sultry eyes. Charles knew how desperate Henry was these days. The queen had stopped bleeding, everyone knew, and Henry had no heir. There was a paragraph in the bible apparently, that forbade a man to marry his brother's widow and Henry was now trying to convince himself and everyone that his marriage had never been legal. _And he will succeed._ Charles did not like it, he had always admired the queen, strong and calm and serene as she was, but he knew that Henry's father had won the throne in a hard war and had seen his first son die. Thrones were rocking chairs, one never had a secure seat, alway rocking to one side or to other, someone always wanted to take over. Charles had never understood this thirst for absolute power but he knew that Henry had to have a son, or better, more than one, to make sure that his father had not fought for nothing, that Charles's own father and so many others had not died in vain.

Buckingham had died so that Henry could feel safe again, and no one mourned for him. Not even his young daughter, for she had known him not at all. He had been too harsh yesterday, wine and anger had guided his tongue and he cursed himself thrice now. He wanted her to respect him, at least, if not like him, but somehow, when they happened upon each other, he could not bring himself to be kind. He enjoyed fighting with her too much, he feared, and he did not want her to think him weak, did not want her to think that she could play him like a fiddle like all the other gentlemen. The king had fallen for her charms, too, and Charles was thankful that the second Boleyn girl had stepped in before Henry could develop a serious interest for Catherine. Henry would stop pursuing her if Charles asked him not to, he had before, the king was a good friend. But then, Charles would have to admit that he had an interest in her, which of course, he hadn't.

 _Little wildcat._ 'Cat', her father had called her that, and her sister Mary too when Charles had talked to her years ago. ' _Little Cat'._ She was not so little anymore and had not seen her sister in ten years. Mary Stafford had been pretty too, not quite as pretty as her younger sister, but far more flirtatious. If the rumours were true, she had allowed half the court into her chamber, but rumours rarely were. What was true was that the king had developed an interest in her, long before Bessie Blount, and only for a short time. And he himself had come to his aid, the staunch friend that he was...He still remembered Buckingham's beet red face when he had come in and found him in the girl's room, he remembered how spittle had sprayed everywhere when the man had shouted at him, he also remembered Mary's silly laugh and the sound when Buckingham had struck his own daughter so hard that her lip had bursted. He had punched the older man in the face for that and had taken a hit in return. Thankfully, someone had had the sense to call the king before they had started a full on fist fight. No doubt Charles would have won, but it would not have been very wise in hindsight. _No one could ever accuse me of being wise._

He would apologise to her today, if he could. Sometimes, just the way she looked at him provoked him somehow and he always felt the need to keep her at distance while he also longed for closeness, for affection.

 _It was never like this with Mary._ The king's sister had been in love with him most of her life and he had fancied himself in love too, for a while. She had been lively and convincing and had talked until he was so certain of loving her that he had happily risked his head to marry her. She had had a gift for that, his dead wife, had been very convincing, very charming, quite like her brother. But at some point, Charles's infatuation had been over. Mary had moved to Westhorpe with the two daughters and a son and Charles had stayed at court. His son had died in the cradle, just like his daughter from his first marriage, but the two girls were still at Westhorpe, sweet children of six and four who came running out of the front door everytime he came to visit. They were of royal blood and he feared for their safety should Henry not father more children. After Princess Mary, his own children might have a claim, considering that Margaret's children were heir to the Scottish throne already.

It would be best if Henry got an annulment from the Pope. Perhaps the Queen could hold state as Princess Dowager, and be first lady in the realm after the king's wife. _Would he really marry a commoner?_ Kings were supposed to marry princesses, and the kings of England normally chose a bride from one of the great dynasties on the continent. But he did not know how far Henry's infatuations would go, he had kept Mary Boleyn for near on six years or thereabouts. He no longer called for her though, Charles knew, and the king had a healthy appetite. This Mistress Boleyn was different, quick of wit and sharp like Catherine, ambitious and shrewd. Charles could understand their friendship well, they seemed to be alike, just like him and Henry. _But Catherine is not as ambitious. Nor is she so cunning._ She had the Stafford's temper although she controlled it well around the king and queen, around everyone but Charles it seemed. And she was sweeter than that Boleyn girl, more innocent despite her years in France. He wondered sometimes, when he lay awake in his bedchamber, whether she was still a maiden. _Is any girl that comes back from France?_ But she had been so dismissive of Bessie Blount, of her own sister, so judgemental that he thought perhaps she was.

He would have to protect her from Talbot. The man was utterly without moral, and single-minded when it came to pursuit and conquest, in romantic matters as much as in battle. _Why, not unlike me._ The young men at court belonged either in this category, like the king, or they were hopeless romantics like Wyatt or morally steadfast men like Thomas More. The former were too limp, too feeble to ever appeal to a woman, the latter had no interest in adventures of that sort. _Poor devils._ Charles had never had a reason to complain, he had always won the lady's favour. _With her, though...The king's fool has better chances._

He would go downstairs now, and be kind. Be charming. He could be, he often was. If she just put in a little effort as well...trying to charm her had as much chance of success as trying to charm one of the sculptures in the Cardinal's new Greek garden at Hampton Court, his lavish palace.

Charles rose from his chair, pulled his fine grey brocade doublet straight, brushed his hair away from his forehead with his hand and then took the stairs down to the great hall where the queen's ladies were certainly breaking their fast now.

He saw her as soon as he entered, beautiful in Tudor green that complimented her eyes, with a hood in the French fashion. She stood out, not only because of her beauty but also because of her posture. She looked every inch a noble lady while most of the girls that surrounded her were just that: Highborn little girls with a thirst for excitement and gossip.

Catherine seemed to share an apple pie with another lady when he walked past. The chatter stopped immediately, some pulled their hoods back, their gowns down, others bit their lips to give them more colour. Charles was used to all that. He was, in the eyes of many, the best match after the king, A bachelor, still young enough, a duke with vast holdings and a considerable income, a man without a son and heir, charming, exciting, and handsome. In the eyes of many, but not in hers.

"Ladies." He bowed courteously. Some of the ladies bowed their heads, others rose to perform a small curtsey, but she had barely raised her head to acknowledge him.

"I bid you a very fine morning."

They all chattered their reply, trying to drown out the voices of the others, trying to be more creative. She still did not say anything. _I was very rude yesterday._ It almost seemed he might have to apologise later.

He looked at her directly now, and she smiled at him, a thin smile that did not reach her eyes, but it was a smile. His heart was a little lighter.

"A good morning for you, too. Your Grace."

It would be a good morning, he was almost certain.

Charles bowed again, then he took his seat on the lord's table, close to the king.

He, and everyone else surely, saw the second Boleyn girl come in, fashionably late in the French fashion, in a gown of dark blue silk that made her darkish skin look a tad paler, with a French hood pushed back so far that everyone could admire her silky black hair. The king did, for sure, while the queen at his side looked at Anne with mild curiosity, as if she was some sort of exotic oddity but nothing worth her full attention. Anne Boleyn took a seat next to Catherine, another girl moved out of the way without objecting. The dark haired girl whispered something into Catherine's ear, and both laughed sweetly, as if oblivious to all the eyes that were on them.

A servant came with a full plate. The queen's ladies ate well at court although Mistress Boleyn did not look like it. _She does not have a great appetite, but Henry does._

After breakfast, Charles would join the king on the tennis court for a few games, perhaps go for a ride through the snowy woodlands later, if it was the king's wish. There were further celebrations tonight, plays, wine, games, dances, the usual.

She was laughing with her friend and Charles noted again how much it changed her face. She looked softer, sweeter with a smile, kinder as well. She had been lucky: There was no trace of Stafford in her features. Norfolk's wife, her sister, had the close-set brown Stafford eyes and the prominent nose, her other sister Mary had inherited the eyes and that nose as well, although it was not as prominent in her face and the lighter Percy hair softened her features. Catherine was prettier than both of them, in truth, Charles found her prettier than most ladies. Perhaps even prettier than Mary, _his_ Mary, Henry's dearest sister.

He noticed that he was staring and quickly looked away but perhaps she had noticed. Worse was that Talbot had noticed, for he gave him a knowing glance. _You know nothing, fool._ It was often said that Charles was stupid. Simple. Perhaps he was, politics, religion, ethics, he left those topics for his betters. But he was not blind and not so great a fool not to see what Talbot was aiming for. _He can't have her._ She had been right the other day, he would not see her wed. And it was not only for her wealth, nor was it only because he liked to tease her. He did not want to see her with someone else, and that confession troubled him greatly. _She is Buckingham's daughter, haughty, proud, arrogant, cool. She loathes me and I despise her. That is how it should stay._

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**

"The duke _stares_ at you." whispered Anne Stanhope.

"Which duke?" she whispered back, although of course she had noticed.

"Suffolk."

Catherine detected both jealousy and admiration in her voice.

"He is my warden. Surely, he is just looking for something to reproach me for." He was, certainly. Why else would he look at her? Cat remembered his words from yesterday. _Of course, he wants to know whether I am in any danger from Francis._

Quickly, she glanced over to where the earl's son sat, his dark eyes were fixed on her. Confused, she cast her own eyes down. _His interest is sudden though not surprising. Suffolk is right, although I do not like it. It is my inheritance, once he has that, he won't be as charming, and he will shame me like the king shamed the queen, like Suffolk shamed Queen Mary, and my Mray too._ But which man would not? _Thomas More._ she thought, drily. _Bishop Fisher...but even the Cardinal has his mistress._

"He is _very_ handsome", Anne Stanhope and Margery Horsman whispered in unison while Anne at Cat's side just rolled her eyes.

"I do not see it." Cat replied flatly, too flatly perhaps, judging by the look Jane Parker was giving her. Soon she would be Jane Boleyn, Anne did not like that at all. But with the Parker girl came a good income for George, and that was what Sir Thomas, now Viscount Rochford, was interested in.

"If you are finished, we could take a quick walk before service." Anne whispered.

Nothing would have been more welcome. Together, they walked out, Anne held her head high like a queen, curtseyed with grace and modesty, but never once looked at the king.

Once they were outside, the cold air cut through Cat's lungs.

"The king seems to be smitten with you, Anne." she smiled.

"He does indeed. He no longer visits Mary's bed, he no longer asks for her. But it won't be long until he will ask for me." She had always been self-confident.

"And what will you say?" Catherine asked.

"I trust you know me well enough to know what I must say, Cat." Anne smiled mysteriously.  
"No. You will say no. Tell me, Anne, is it the crown you want?"

Anne's dark eyes darted around, to make sure no one overheard them.

"It is revenge I want. And never disgrace. I won't be shamed like my sister. If the king wants me, he has to marry me. If he does not wish to marry me, he does not want me enough."

"Henry is not like every other man, Anne, the game you are playing is dangerous."

"I know, of course I know. But I am almost twenty, Cat, and I won't go to Ireland. Father will allow me to stay here, for sure, when he sees that the king is in love with me. And I - I want to stay as well."

"Why?" Catherine thought she knew why but she would rather hear it from her friend.

"Oh, for you, dearest Cat, for no one else." Anne grinned.

"It is not Harry Percy, is it?" Cat grinned back.

"Harry Percy? Remind me, Cat, who was he again? Every man is eclipsed by the king."

"And every woman by you."

"I know well enough that that is not so. But I will make him believe so." There was anticipation in her voice, the thrill and excitement of France.

"You were always fond of risks." Catherine had to smile. "What do you think you will achieve?"

"Oh, you never know. Perhaps I might be queen one day. You would be my lady of the bedchamber, I promise." It was a jest but Catherine thought it might very well end that way. The king was very single-minded when it came to romance and Anne… Anne always got what she wanted. _Almost always._ "Or I will end up disgraced and forever a virgin in Hever, until my father finds a poor landowner for his second daughter, the one that aimed high but never scored. Promise me that you will write to me then, as I wrote to you."

"Ten letters every day, sweetest Anne. Once you're queen, remember my vows, I beseech you, and rid me of Suffolk." They both giggled like children.

Yes, Anne was aiming high. But if someone could win this game, then her.

"You like the king." Catherine guessed.

"Oh, he is the king. Everyone likes him." Anne replied carelessly but Cat saw through it.

"You lie even to me, Anne?"

"That is no lie." She gave her an apologetic smirk. "Yes, it might be. I would be an utter fool to be led by feelings alone. You know that I am not so _simple_. Passion is a weakness only men can afford. In women, it often has disastrous consequences, my sister Mary's desire made her a discarded whore, your sister Mary still pays for her amorous adventures. Our old mistress, Mary of France, she married for love, followed her feelings, and nothing good came out of it." Anne shook her head and Catherine bravely ignored the odd tension in her stomach when Anne spoke about Suffolk's two Marys so carelessly.

"No. If I were wiser, I would go to Ireland and spend my days in some draughty old keep." she said, her voice laced with irony.

"It would not be many days, you'd be most like to catch a chill and die. It would certainly come as a relief up there." Catherine japed and Anne laughed heartily.

Suddenly, she was serious again.

"You may never speak of this. My father thinks I follow his orders, my uncle thinks I do it all for my family. They both think feelings of inferior importance, a hindrance even, to their cause."

Cat understood that well...she remembered her father's harsh words in France, her desire to make him proud without feeling like a liar and a deceiver, without betraying Queen Claude who had been so kind…

"I will never." she vowed.

Anne took her hand affectionately. "If it pleases the Lord to make me so happy, I will use all my power to give you the same bliss." She smiled.

"But which gentleman would it be, if you had the choice? Talbot? Handsome indeed, and charming, and you would be Countess but I do not think that you have taken a serious interest in him?" Anne had always had the gift to see right through her.

"No. We cannot all hope for love matches, Anne, you have become a romantic, it seems."

Anne nudged her in the side.

"It is what I want for you. And if not with Talbot, then with someone else. The duke _is_ handsome, and he would marry you, no doubt." There was an odd tone to her voice but Cat did not ask what exactly she meant. Perhaps she would much rather not know.

"He would, for my lands and income, and so that he could forever torture me. But he has proven in the past his inadequacy as a husband and gentleman, and I will not suffer that shame."

Thoughtfully, they walked back to the palace, arm in arm.

"Do you think Henry would? The king, I mean. Change his habits."

Cat told it true. "I do not know. He can surely, if he is willing. But he might not be willing forever. A queen has to look away. It has always been like this."

That was one of the many reasons why Cat had never longed to wear a crown.

"I will never look away, whether I will marry a stableboy or a king, I vow, I shall not be shamed so."

No. Anne would not suffer such a treatment silently, like Queen Katherine had. Like Queen Katherine did. Suddenly, Cat was uncomfortable about entering the queen's reception chamber arm in arm with her husband's new subject of desire.

It was Anne, thankfully, who pulled her arm free to rearrange her skirts and headdress, to smooth down the dark silk and pull her necklace straight. Perhaps, one day, she would wear a crown instead of the golden B.

 **~o~**

Christmas was over, and a new year had begun. The king had been greatly pleased by his gifts but not by the continental development. After Pavia, there had been no new development and Henry was displeased with both the emperor and the French king. Another matter was on his mind, now that the queen was no longer in her childbearing years: Leviticus. He was certain, or at least inclined to believe, as he put it, that his marriage to Katherine was sinful and invalid and that God had punished him for entering this union by not giving him an heir.

Indeed, the man that took his brother's wife to wife was cursed with a childless union, it said in the Holy Book. And true enough, Princess Mary was not the heir Henry had prayed for all his life. There could have been no better time for Anne, and Cat was sure that, if Henry could convince the Pope to declare his marriage null and void, then he would marry Anne Boleyn, a knight's daughter from Kent. Her words had convinced Catherine that although it had started only on orders from her uncle, Anne was now also personally involved, aware of the risk feelings often entailed.

"Catherine!" Lord Francis Talbot had proceeded to calling her by her first name, a familiarity the duke was displeased with. But Francis was entertaining, kind, witty, and she was in no great danger from him. Her smile did not make her heartbeat quicken, and when they danced, she never forgot what she wanted to say.

"Lord Talbot." For all the familiarity he showed her, she was still a highborn lady, and well-bred.

"How is the queen?" He took her arm quite naturally and she did not mind. The weather was milder now, but he walked through the deserted corridors with her, down to the great hall.

"Her Majesty prays a lot." _But God won't help her._

"I would, too, if I were her. The king is determined to rid himself of her. She failed him, he says. And a king needs a son, that much is clear as day."

It rankled with her, but she did not comment. Mary was only a young girl, and weak. She could not rule, not in the next ten years.

"It seems that she was not free to marry him. That it was Henry's love for her that made him disregard the holy book and now, he pays." She said nothing about Anne, who was ready to step into Katherine's shoes, and neither did Francis.

"No, indeed. The theologists in this country are divided but the Pope will send a legate to decided on this matter, Wolsey is most determined to give the king what he desires." _Thereby he will seal his own fate._ Anne would never be his friend, although they exchanged lavish gifts and respectful letters.

"The cardinal has always been eager." she agreed. Francis, like every other nobleman, was Wolsey's enemy.

He snorted, quite unmannerly.

"Eager indeed." Then he shook his head. "But enough of these stern topics. Have you read the book I gave you?"

"I have." she smiled. "And have you read mine?"

"I could not lay it aside, and knowing that it had been your fingers on the pages before mine, seeing the passages you marked with a fingernail, I read it in one night."

"In one night!" she exclaimed, amused. "You will not have been able to understand its meaning then, when you have read it so fast. Art needs time."

He grinned. "I only need a moment to understand when something is worthy of admiration….and then, I will admire it for a lifetime."

"So you plan on reading this book every night?" she asked, sweetly.

"No, my lady. There are other things on my mind at night." He left it at that but his tone and his smile still made her blush.

Generously, he changed the topic. "So you read mine? And my notes?"

"Even the poem, my lord." She laughed.

"And you find me a poor poet, I know. I did my best and see how I am shunned."

"Not at all a poor poet, my lord." She lied courteously. "A witty poem, no doubt. A perfect sonnet." It had lacked elegance and eloquence, but it had not been outright bad.

" 'The Rose with Thorns' I named it, and only for you my lady. And once again, I feel your thorns so sharp in my heart." His feigned wistfulness made her laugh.

"It is not a very charming poem, if that was your intention. Few ladies like to hear that they have thorns."

Few ladies do. Most of them are daisies, meek and easy to pluck and quick to wilt. You, Catherine, are neither. Indeed, I fear many a man has hurt himself when he tried to come too close."

He stopped her. It was the corridor to the king's chambers, where they were to dine, but right now, it lay deserted.

He stood half a foot taller than her, and his dark eyes were fixed on her face, darting from her eyes to her lips.

"Will you hurt me, too, my lady? I swear, I mean not to pluck you." Slowly, he lifted his hand and caressed her cheek. It was not a bad feeling. "My intentions are honest, whatever they might claim. You have bewitched me."

Catherine was suddenly uncomfortable. She did not want him to say what he was about to say, did not want him to do what he was about to do. She had had her share of admirers and suitors in France, had experienced her first kiss...and a few more. Not one of them had made her curious for the things Mary had been curious about, not one kiss had excited her.

"I do not mean to hurt you, my lord." she replied carefully.

His smile was disappointed, he had hoped for more.

"Ouch."

He bowed his head to kiss her, not on the lips but chastely on the cheek, as it was done in France all the time.

"Talbot." _His_ voice was all controlled fury. Catherine whirled around. The duke stood half a foot taller than Talbot and his expression showed her that he was more than just displeased. She hoped devoutly that Francis did not have a moment of ill-timed chivalry again.

Whatever she had done to displease the Lord Father so, he did not fulfil her wish.

"Suffolk." Talbot put himself between her and her warden. His tone was cutting.

"It would be better if you removed yourself from my presence." The duke's tone was liquid ice. _This is not good at all._

"I must be mistaken, but I feel like you are threatening me." Talbot straightened his back but he stood significantly shorter still.

"I am glad you picked up the threat so quickly." Suffolk spared him not another glance but stared at Cat angrily.

"The girl is my ward-" _The girl is present._ She opened her mouth but Talbot was quicker. _Once again, they are fighting about something else entirely but need to involve my name._

"And God only knows what the king thought when he gave her to you. She is too fine for a man like you and you have not protected her but scorned her." Talbot said, aggressively. "You are a disgrace to the title you bear and worse even, you bring shame upon this noble lady and her name."

Suffolk's neck was red as a beetroot by now.

"We have very different opinions about disgrace, I am certain." He turned to Cat again.

"Catherine." He called her like a dog. "With me."  
She was about to speak up angrily herself when Talbot did it for her.

"This is a lady you are speaking to, commoner. You are not familiar with the customs of the aristocracy, I am aware, so I will explain it to you this once, Suffolk. Lady Catherine is neither dog nor dressed monkey and she deserves to be treated like a lady."

"I know the way you treat ladies." Suffolk said with a sneer but Talbot laughed out loud at that, bitterly.

"This is an outrage. Your history is well known to me, but how much does your ward know? Does she know how you disgraced her _own sister_? Does she know-"

"I warn you, only this once, Talbot. Get out of my sight."

"So she doesn't. I wouldn't have told-" This would not end well, no, not at all. Quickly, she put a hand on Talbot's arm.

"My lord, I thank you but I do not need protection. Please, tell the king that I and His Grace will be late and pass on our apologies in advance."

Talbot shot Suffolk a quick glance but then he nodded briskly. "As you wish, Catherine."

He strode away quickly and left the two of them alone.

"You take my warnings to heart, I see." he said, no less angry, but less aggressive.

"I took your kind words into consideration, Your Grace." she replied.

He replied nothing, just snorted.

"You can make mooneyes at him all you like, you won't be Lady Talbot anytime soon." he assured her grimly. She had never wanted to be Lady Talbot, in all honesty, but she would not tell _him._

The duke seemed to struggle for words.

"About your sister-" he started but Cat was really in no mood to think about Mary and him, about their _intimacy_.

"That is no concern of mine." She interrupted him quickly but he looked as if she had slapped him across the face so she forced herself to smile.

"The king will be waiting, Your Grace. Should we not go?" She used her sweet voice, the one that was reserved for the king and other gentlemen. On the duke, it had no effect.

"You are as dishonest as your father, girl." he said sharply. "But prettier, that is why they are all mad to support you. But I'm not falling for your farce, so spare me the smile and the sweetness. The king's waiting."

Unhappily, she followed him to the king's private chambers, where a small group of courtiers dined tonight. Anne was there, and her brother and father, her sister-in-law, Jane, and her own sister, Mary. Talbot and Suffolk were the highest peers at the table, also present were Francis Weston and Henry Norris, who had succeeded William Compton as Groom of the Stool, with his wife Mary Fiennes Norris.

Next to Henry sat Anne and Sir Thomas Boleyn, the duke sat next to Anne's father while she found herself next to Anne. And next to Francis Talbot who put the chair in place for her with a provocative look to Suffolk. The king did not seem to notice the tension between the two men, he welcomed them with sloppy courtesy while his attention was on Anne at his side.

It could have been a merry dinner, the Boleyns were all good at entertaining and Sir Thomas had a lot to say about different courts and monarchs and many anecdotes from his ambassadorial career. Anne was witty and quick and lively and Henry was as jolly as he had last been at Christmas. Henry Norris and his wife, Francis Weston and Mary and Jane Boleyn were all willing to be jolly and cheerful, and Francis Talbot was determined to enjoy his evening at her side. The duke was still angry though, and never looked at her once, something even the king in his state of bliss seemed to notice. When he called for music and a dance, Talbot was quick to ask Cat. There were more gentlemen than ladies present, and only because neither Sir Thomas nor George Boleyn felt the urge to take to the floor did the duke have a partner. He found himself with Mary Boleyn, no doubt the most beautiful lady present but he did not seem to be overjoyed. Sir Francis danced only once with Jane Boleyn and sat down with her husband then while she took to the floor with Sir Thomas. Only Henry and Anne seemed to enjoy themselves truly.

"My lady?" Talbot smiled. "I have lost your attention, it seems, how can I win it back?"

With confusion, she tore her eyes away from the duke who had not honoured her with a single look.

Forgive me, my lord." She smiled back. Then she whispered. "I find this whole affair rather tedious."

It was not the whole truth, yes, she did, but she was still preoccupied with what the duke had said previously, with his reaction.

"Did _he_ say anything?" Francis had of course seen that she had stared at Suffolk though he misinterpreted her gaze.

She shook her head. "He has, but nothing that is worthy of repetition."

When she glanced over to the duke again, she found his eyes on her, to her surprise, and only a moment later did he come over and asked her to dance. Talbot could hardly refuse in front of the king, so he took Mary Boleyn's hand with the greatest courtesy, although he gave Catherine a wounded look.

The duke was not a bad dancer, though not as quick, not as whirling as Talbot.

"Forgive me." It was not more than a whisper in her ear, not loud enough for anyone else to hear, but she had certainly not imagined it. There was no way she could ignore it or mock it, and she did not want to. It would be no fair fight: He had laid down his weapons, was waving a white flag. All she could do was accept it gracefully.

"I will, if you forgive me." Apologies had never come easy to her, but it was only a whisper, and he had said it first.

The dance forced them apart before he could reply, but when it brought them back together, he was smiling the charming smile he had reserved for the pretty ladies of the court. He had never once directed it at her before.

"Perhaps I should write you a poem, too, my lady?" He grinned and she understood that he had apologised for the comments in the hall, for what he had said at Christmas...but that they were no friends and that their battle was far from over.

"Please, do not exhaust yourself so, my lord. Every gentleman has his talent, and you fight far better with a lance than with a quill."

"And your tongue is sharper than my sword...or a rose's thorns." _He heard Francis in the hall._

"He who dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose." She smiled sweetly, feeling triumphant.

"I do not crave the rose, Mistress Catherine."

He had won this duel, and he knew he had. But it would not be the last.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you all for your reviews, feedback really motivates me!**

 **Lily: We are currently in February/ March 1528, the sweating sickness broke out in May/ June 1528... it will be in chapter 9. So much for spoilers :D**

 **I know, Talbot's annoying. I think Catherine might notice it too, slowly... ;)**

* * *

 **Richmond Palace**

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**

Anne still served the queen with nonchalant grace and both played their parts like true mummers although the queen seemed to find it harder and harder to hide her antipathy.

Only the other day, they had played cards, Anne, Henry, the queen and George Boleyn.

When Anne had won with a king of clubs, Katherine got carried away and remarked sharply:

"My lady Anne, you have good hap to stop at a king, but you are not like others, you will have all or none."

Henry had roared in laughter, and the rest of the court had joined, only Anne and the Queen had smiled at each other faintly.

Cat was not sure whether the queen was aware of the threat Anne posed, whether she was aware that the crown would soon be taken away from her by a knight's younger daughter from Kent who was not half as beautiful as the queen had been in her youth, but twice as captivating.

Today, the weather was terrible, ice cold late february rain ran down the lead glass windows and dampened the mood. Especially the king's.

There would be a small feast in the evening but nothing to lift his spirits enough considering that Wolsey had still achieved nothing in 'The King's Great Matter'.

Stephen Gardiner and Edward Fox were in Rome to try and convince the Pope to declare Henry and Katherine's marriage null and void but no favourable letter speaking of victory or at least a small success, had made it over the Channel yet.

Henry paid Anne as much respect as suitable in front of the ambassadors of Spain and France, both of whose enmity the king feared greatly. And Katherine was the Spanish Emperor's aunt…

Thus, Cat found herself with the king and Anne, and Henry's closest friend, playing chaperone for the loving couple that could not be together openly in front of so many foreign eyes. She tried as well as she could to be deaf to Henry's urgent whispers, to his pleas and compliments. _Anne's will is true steel._ She had strategically withdrawn to Hever more than oncenand Katherine had been only too pleased to let her go, but every time she came back, Henry's passion was only stronger than before, her absence fuelled his desire, his determination to make her his wife, although Anne admitted that he still asked her to give herself to him, soul _and_ body. She never relented though and the tension between the two of them was palpable and obvious to everyone in the queen's spacious reception chamber.

Brandon spared his infatuated friend only a brief glance before he turned his eyes to Catherine.

"I wrote you a poem, my lady." He grinned lazily. Francis eyed him with suspicion from his seat close to the queen and she knew that he cursed Brandon's close friendship with the king in this very moment.

"I attempted to write a sonnet...though I must admit that I am not a very gifted poet."

"I am honoured that you deem me worthy of your first attempt but perhaps you should aim for perfection before you let anyone read it. One poor poem and all the ladies at court will make you the new fool at court." She replied with sweet poison in her voice.

"I have noticed that ladies can be rather cruel. But I fear neither their malicious tongues nor their cold eyes."

He handed her a piece of paper on which was written in a broad, powerful hand:

 _ **The Thistle**_

 _She is as prickly as a thistle_

 _and though many do pick flowers_

 _the purple bloom that is so bristle_

 _remains there for the longest hours._

 _~o~_

 _What does all great beauty mean to me_

 _If she will forever not be mine_

 _What is the prickly thistle to the bee_

 _If the bee can never taste its wine._

 _~o~_

 _A prickly thistle is not a rose_

 _although both blooms do have sharp thorns_

' _Never dare to come too close'_

 _the prickly thistle vainly warns -_

 _~o~_

 _But which man would ever crave the moon_

 _in the presence of the sun in june?_

 _Which man indeed?_

It was a poor sonnet, no sonnet at all in truth, but the absence of formal requirements made it no less expressive. _He is still angry about Talbot, I hurt his pride and now he hurts mine._

"What a beautiful poem, Your Grace. It is not a sonnet, strictly speaking, but I am sure you have done your best. I promise I will not compare it to those other gentlemen-" she looked over to Francis "-have written for me."

Suffolk stared at her with amusement in his deep blue eyes, eyes that she grew fond of, in all truth. "Oh, please do. I am aware of the differences between me and those gentlemen. Are you?"

He turned back to Henry and Anne abruptly and left her no time to reply.

It was Anne who roused her from her thoughts.

"Did you hear, Cat? We will go hunting in Oxfordshire in March, as soon as the weather warms up a bit. Only the king and I and a few of our closest friends. The rest can rot here in Richmond."

She spared the queen a fine triumphant smile, then her eyes darted over the gathered courtiers, she would choose her companions wisely. Howard loyalists, those of noble blood or high position, friends of her and not of the Queen or the Cardinal.

"What do you think?" she whispered. "Whom shall we take?"

"Henry Norris and his wife." Cat suggested under her breath. "Francis Talbot, your brother George, Francis Dereham, Francis Bryan." The latter was notorious, a gambler and a wastrel, but highly amusing and utterly without moral or backbone. Those were the men Anne attracted to her cause, the young and the wild, the wilful and those that had never like Katherine's quiet dignity.

"A good choice...but devious. My father and my uncle shall stay here, so will mother. I want you and Margery Horsman...and I must take Mary and Jane Parker as well. Oh, and the king will want to take his friend, your well beloved ward." Anne grinned at her sardonically. "You must be overjoyed."

"Oh, I am, for there is no man whose company I find more joy and diversion in than in the duke's." She replied to the sarcasm.

"Oh, say that not my lady, am I fighting a losing battle?" Francis Talbot had made his way over to the two of them unnoticed.

Anne liked him, Cat knew, although she shared her opinion that he was a fortune hunter, cunning and ambitious. Perhaps that was why she had taken a liking to him.

"Ah, Lord Talbot." Anne exclaimed. "The greatest songs are written for those who show bravery in the face of certain defeat."

Francis had to laugh. "Lady Anne." It was not her proper title, she was only the daughter of a newly made viscount, but given her position so high in the king's favour, even those of the old blood forgot the rigidness of title and rank. "That might be so. But I admit it freely, I dream not of songs and tales that will be told of my bravery after my death."

He looked at Cat now. She knew what she was supposed to say but didn't, so Anne chirruped in her place:

"Oh, and what do you dream of, my lord? Will you tell us? Under the seal of secrecy?" She whispered the last part like a lover's promise but Talbot only smiled at her. He seemed disappointed.

"You cannot ask that of me, my lady, I beseech you. Leave a dreamer to his dreams and hopes, for more it might never be." He turned to Catherine. "Did you write me a poem in return, Lady Catherine?" he asked, mockingly, while gesturing at the folded piece of paper she still held in her hand.

Cat blushed and hid the paper in her hand, something, she noticed only a moment later, that was terribly foolish for it would only fuel his interest.

"No, my lord, I fear I am not half as talented with a quill as you are." she quipped and Francis laughed.

"A kind lie, my lady. So if it no poem you wrote, it is a poem a gentleman wrote for you."

Anne joined now: "Which one was it, Catherine? Wyatt?" She laughed. Wyatt had fallen for Anne hand and heart, but he wrote poems for half a hundred other ladies as well.

She ripped the paper from Catherine's fist.

" _The Thistle._ " She shook her head. "Not very charming, is it?" She laughed, at least until she had read the first few verses. Francis, who had looked over her shoulder, clenched his fingers into a tight fist.

"This was Brandon. Not enough that he treats you without due respect, now he goes so far as to try and humiliate you. Do not take it to heart, Catherine. Before long, you will be rid of him."

Catherine felt the inexplicable desire to defend him. _Am I truly such a fool?_ Defend him. Why? Francis was right in everything he said. _Brandon did not mean it that way though._ It was a joke, a satirical reply to Talbot's 'rose' poem, not intended to truly hurt her but to mock her, as he always did, as she always did. But she could not say it now, or she would admit that she shared a special bond with the duke...which of course, she didn't. Not really. But neither Anne nor Talbot would understand. She had to hide her conflicting, her confusing emotions from both of them.

"I take it not to heart." She assured him and Talbot nodded stiffly and retreated back to his seat close to the queen but Anne was not so calm.

"He will regret writing this, Cat." Anne's dark eyes rested on Brandon who was joking with the king. "Henry told me that Brandon voiced his disapproval. He supports the queen in this. He has not been explicit yet, for he wants to bring down Wolsey as well, but once the Cardinal has fallen, he will turn against me."

Catherine was not surprised to learn this. Brandon had little interest in courtly intrigue and his one redeeming quality was loyalty. Never to his wives, not at all indeed, but to his king and queen. He had not reason to dislike Anne but he was a staunch supporter of Queen Katherine who, in the eyes of a friend, was the ideal wife for a king. Apart from the fact that she was sadly no longer in her childbearing years.

"Do not turn against him for my sake." Catherine beseeched her. "He will not turn against you, not against the king's will. He might not approve but he is not one to question Henry's choices."

Perhaps she had spoken too fervently for the look Anne rewarded her with was full of suspicion.

"You know, Cat, if I did not know better-" Cat never learnt what exactly Anne suspected and was quite relieved. She was her closest friend but there were things she could not share, not even with Anne.

"Lady Catherine." It was the king himself that addressed her now, so she sunk into a low French curtsy.

"I trust Mistress Anne has already shared our plans with you?" He looked at Anne and she nodded, her eyes still narrowed in suspicion as she glanced at Brandon.

"A long hunting trip, a fortnight perhaps. We shall dine in a different house every night, ride through a different forest every day. Will that please you, Anne?" He was greedy for her approval.

She got up without haste, she was ostensibly calm. Her face was a blank mask but for the tiniest hint of a smile.

"It might." she purred. "Who will accompany us, Your Majesty?"

"Whoever you wish. Lady Catherine here, surely, and Charles. Your brother of course, if you wish...whomever you want."

Anne's faint smile widened, her dark eyes sparkled with satisfaction.

"That sounds entertaining." she allowed. "When will Gardiner and Fox come back?" Her voice was sharp as a whip now and Henry knew that the fun part was over. "Later, sweetheart…" he objected but he had no choice. Anne insisted.

"Wolsey is almost certain that they will be successful." He assured her. "The Pope respects the Cardinal, you know he does-"

"Oh, I know." Anne agreed. "It must be terrible to have such a torn heart...it is an open secret that he loves Rome more than London and that he would sell his own children for the Pope's triple crown." _His children and his king._

Henry was about to object but support came from an unlikely source.

"The Lord knows, Wolsey has always thought of himself first." Brandon agreed. "The most self-serving man the churches have yielded, no doubt."

Henry was suddenly uncomfortable.

"He has always served me well-"

"Oh, he has, he was always your most faithful servant for it suited his own needs well." Anne exclaimed but then her tone changed, from accusing to soft and sweet. "Your Majesty, you must forgive me. It only grieves me so that it takes so long."

Anne was clever. She planted the doubt so that the flower would grow, she led Henry to the water but did not splash it for him.

The king's expression softened. "I know, sweetheart, it won't be long now. The Pope will grant me the annulment and Katherine will move to Ludlow as the Princess Dowager of Wales. You will be crowned on the brightest day in May, with a crown of gold and a gown of pure white velvet and before the end of the next year, we might hold a prince in our arms." He looked down at her, his blue-green eyes clouded with love and desire.

Respectfully, Catherine and Brandon retreated to allow them a moment of privacy in the crowded room. Together, they shielded the couple from the queen's sharp eyes.

"Your friend is aiming high." Brandon observed. _Oh, is she? It escaped my notice._

"Indeed."

His blue eyes scrutinised her. "It could be you, if you had played your cards right."

That made her laugh, really laugh. "It is not me, for I played my cards right." she corrected. "Forgive me, my lord, but you know me very little. Do not presume to understand me."

For a moment, something clouded his eyes but then it was gone and only a faint disappointment remained.

"I am not sure whether you have noticed, Catherine." He said in a low voice, merely more than a whisper and somehow she liked it that he used her Christian name. "But it is very hard to get to know you. Your thorns ward everyone off who tries."

It was good that the queen called for her that very moment because Cat was too confused to find an answer. _I ward no one off. It is him, not me. He always mocks me, he always teases me, he finds pleasure in it._ So did she, in all honesty. But she was unwilling to wonder about their motives. _We are natural enemies. Talbot is who Father would have chosen, no doubt, noble born, educated, with an old name and new gold._ Yet, she herself had grown tired of the man with his constant digs at Suffolk and others of lower birth, of his japes and follies, his arrogance and affectation. _Father would have said that it is pride and polished manners that make a noble man and show the old blood._ But her father was dead, executed for treason and Catherine found it increasingly hard to truly believe in his innocence. Perhaps he had not schemed to murder the king, Edward Stafford had not had the wits for that. But he had talked of it, she was almost certain and it disappointed her greatly. _What am I going to fight for, if not for his legacy?_

"Lady Catherine." The queen smiled, a warm smile that made the wrinkles around her eyes look even worse. Despite her demure English gown, she still wore the Spanish hood and her English still had the tones of the Spanish tongue, liquid and throaty.

"Is His Majesty enjoying his visit?" she asked, seemingly guilelessly but Cat knew that she could not afford a single misstep. It was difficult for her. Katherine had always been a kind, a gracious mistress, generous, forgiving, inspiring. But Anne was her friend, her only friend, her sister in everything but blood, as they had vowed in France. And she would win, Catherine did not doubt it. It would be easiest for the queen if she just stepped aside, moved to Ludlow and spent the rest of her days in the draughty Welsh keep. Easiest, yes, but she was the daughter of a king and a ruling queen, the daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella, and she would never take the easiest path. She was stubborn, rigid, righteous, with a backbone of steel and an iron will. Henry would not bend her, and it would all be a very inelegant affair.

"He is always enjoying his visits to Your Majesty's chambers." Catherine replied carefully.

"And yet, he spends more time with my maid of honour than with his wife." She smiled indulgently and absolved Catherine from the obligation to reply.

"I understand your difficulty, Lady Catherine. But a loyal lady should always be true to her queen."

"Indeed, Your Majesty. And a good subject will always be loyal to the king." The words were out and she saw that they hit the queen, this simple, evident truth that she and her husband were no longer on the same side.

"Which Englishman would not be loyal to their king?" she asked mildly but Cat heard her sadness, her pain. She had realised that she was all alone here. She was in England for far more than twenty years now, but she was still the Spanish princess, with few allies and even fewer friends.

"We all have to be loyal to God, though." the queen said with fervency, as if to reassure herself. "And the Pope speaks with His voice on earth… his word is binding." _She thinks the Pope will decide in her favour, she thinks Henry will give up then._

Catherine was surprised how little she knew him or how much her fear blinded her. Henry would never give up. Sooner would he form an alliance with the Ottomans. She was certain that Anne would soon sit in Katherine's chair, read her cloth-of-gold bound prayer books and wear her crown and jewels. But the Queen was still fighting.

"Amen." Catherine agreed doubtfully and her mistress nodded, clutching her rosary like a drowing man would a rope.

 **~o~**

 **Oxfordshire, March**

 **Charles**

The king's spirits were lifted, as they always were outside, and the constant presence of Anne Boleyn at his side did the rest. Under a clear blue sky the small hunting party had set off, followed by an army of servants and leaving behind a distressed queen and a despairing cardinal. Charles was sorry for the former and rejoiced at the thought of the latter. The Cardinal, haughty, proud, grasping, a thorn in the king's side, a flea in his ear, would soon go back to where he had come from. For that, this Boleyn girl was useful. It could have been an entertaining hunt.

The only thorn in Charles's side was Talbot, clinging to Catherine like a limpet, all charming smiles and witty remarks. He rarely left her alone and the girl seemed not to mind.

Her friend Anne was completely preoccupied with the king and likewise, so Charles found himself in the company of George Boleyn, as quick-witted, sharp-tongued and extravagant as is sister, and Francis Bryan, 'the Vicar of Hell', as he was often called, though rarely to his face. He hated Talbot even more for forcing him into this company.

He was better off than the others though. Mary Boleyn Carey, the king's discarded whore, was discussing something with her cuckholded husband while Jane Parker Boleyn rarely talked to her husband at all, although she stared at him for the majority of the time. Only Henry and Mary Norris seemed to be content.

It was already afternoon when they arrived at the clearing that Henry was so fond of, an island of green grass surrounded by tall pines and poplars, parted by a little stream. Musicians had come to entertain them while the food was prepared and Henry and Anne led a lively country dance. Afterwards, everyone was flushed and the ladies' hairnets and riding hats were in disarray.

Charles sat down by the brook, skimming stones and observing the tadpoles in the clear water.

"When I was a child, I capture one or two and watched them grow up. Mary found it appalling though and told Father, and that was the end of it."

She had knelt down beside him and took off her riding gloves.

"Have you written another poem, my lord?" She smiled and Charles was suddenly embarrassed. He had not meant to be so harsh. Anne had told Henry and Henry had been unamused, because his sweetheart was.

"I fear I lack the talent." He grinned.

"Has that ever stopped you from pursuing something?" There was mockery in her voice. "Anne read it, she was not at all amused and I fear she might have told Henry. I took no offense though. At least not more than usually. Thistles have always been a symbol for strength, endurance and pride, something I would much rather identify with than with the common English rose."

Charles was certain that it was no coincidence she looked over to Mary Boleyn.

"No. You are many things but surely not common." She grinned. "Are you going to pick one for me?"

It took him a moment to understand. There were dozens of thistles growing in the undergrowth around them.

"Only if you wear it behind your ear." He quipped.

"You should never dare me, my lord, I will always answer."

She got up. "Shall we?" She was still laughing. Charles felt a familiar twitch of excitement.

"I am ready." He took one long step and stood on the other side of the stream, offered her his hand to help her. Her fingers were warm and soft and when he felt her naked skin on his his, a strange sensation spread in his stomach, tingly and bubbly and unfamiliar.

He just helped her over the narrow stream, one hand at her waist the other still on hers, when a well-known, annoying voice rang over to them.

"I cannot allow you, Your Grace, to remove Lady Catherine from our presence." Talbot stood on the other side of the stream, she inbetween, and clearly uncomfortable with one foot on each side.

Talbot offered her his gloved hand but she hesitated. Charles pulled her over before Talbot could get his hands on her but he was not quick enough and the hem of her skirt got wet.

Charles would have expected her to get angry and Talbot was already preparing himself for a rant, he could see, but she only laughed.

"I got caught between two hardened fronts, it seems." She shook her skirt out. It was velvet, and costly, Charles knew, for he had seen her accounts, and the water had surely ruined it. _I'll get her a new one._

"Forgive me, Francis, but I am off to pick a thistle now." She said, smiling slyly. _Perhaps she is not as fond of him as I thought._

The earl's son looked at them baffled at first before he roared in laughter.

"I'll leave you to it then, my lady." He grinned and turned around to walk back to the hunting party where the ladies welcomed him with open arms.

"He's giving up quickly." Brandon muttered.

"Oh, he'll be right there waiting. Those blue blooded noblemen have a perseverance you cannot hope to match." She looked over to the king who was whirling Anne around.

"Oh, I think you might be surprised, my lady."

* * *

A/N: That terrible poem is mine because I could not find a suitable thistle poem. If you know one that might actually fit in here, please let me know so I can remove that evidence of my lack of talent.


	9. Chapter 9

Shorter chapter this time, sorry. Next one will include Catherine's POV again!

I thank you all for your reviews! Feedback motivates me a lot. Review responses are at the bottom!

* * *

 **June, Greenwich Palace**

 **Charles**

The May Festivities were long over and the court would soon start its summer progress, from county to county, from one wealthy manor to another, from a banquet to a feast to a hunting trip. The Queen was no more than a shadow at her own court but Anne was as dazzling as the sun. This summer was hers and she allowed no one to doubt that. The Boleyns had risen higher and higher, there was talk of a new title for her father, an earldom perhaps, and many important posts and prestigious offices.

They were in the gardens when word reached them that the Sweating Sickness had broken out, not only in London but in all greater towns all over the country, an outbreak of hitherto unknown dimensions.

"The sweat?" Henry had gone as pale as milk.

"No doubt about that, Your Majesty." The messenger was as scared as the king, though not of illness.

Charles knew well what plagued his king: Death had always been his greatest fear. Not only for himself, no, he would leave behind no legacy and only a sickly little girl to take his throne that his own father, Henry VII., had fought for so hard and at such high cost.

"We will depart within the hour." The king decreed and Anne Boleyn at his side said nothing for once.

Only when the messenger had left, she turned to her lover: "With your leave, I will go to Hever Castle with my brother and father."

Henry nodded. "I will write to you, my sweetheart, every morning, every noon, every night." He kissed her in front of the attending courtiers.

Henry loved this lady much, desired her more than he had ever desired any other woman, but the English Sweat took precedence even over her. Instead of the great summer progress, the king would flee from the sickness all alone with only a few courtiers in attendance, would spend whole days in front of the fire that was said to ward the disease off, would eat ten oranges every day.

The last outbreak of the sweat had seen the death of William Compton, one of Charles' closest friends. This time, he prayed, the sweat should not take someone he held dear. His gaze fell upon _her_ , more than beautiful all others in a gown of light green, her pale face gave nothing away. _We will go to Suffolk. Not to Westhorpe, it is too big, has too many servants._ He would use one of the small houses, perhaps one of those that had been granted to him after Buckingham's death. She might like it to be home again.

"Catherine." He called over to her. "Pack your things. Be ready within the hour." For once she did not object and put a calming hand on Talbot's sleeve.

 _The sweat can take him for all I care._ Fate was rarely that kind though.

He sent all servants away, those that waited on her as well. It was too dangerous to return to their house in the city, the dirty streets were full of people and the Thames was stinking and slow at this time of the year. _If anything happens to her…_ He did not want to dwell on it.

Within the hour, his things were packed and his horse saddled. She waited for him in the yard in a riding gown of sky blue silk that made her look younger and sweeter. Charles spied Francis Talbot not far from the stables but she gave no sign that she had seen him.

Charles helped her mount, savoured the feeling of her skin on his even in a moment like this.

They left the castle quickly, via the country road to the east, only the two of them and a handful of guards.

"Where are we going, Your Grace?" Her tone was almost respectful.

"Kentwell Hall. It was your Father's house once." Charles said, suddenly doubtful that she would appreciate it.

Catherine wore a fashionable riding hat that shielded her face from the sun and he could not quite make out the look in her eyes.

She said not another word though as they rode through the green fields under the burning midday sun.

They reached Kentwell before sunset, the red brick building was bathed in golden light, the shadows had grown longer by now and the air had cooled noticeably.

The house was surrounded by a moat, water lilies swam on the green water and the frogs had started an evening concert. Not far from them, a swan slid gracefully over the water's surface. It was an idyllic place, and beautiful.

"My mother loved this house." She said suddenly, and reined her horse on the stone bridge.

The servants were already in the yard, unpacking. Charles had chosen the house because it was far away from a village, there was no staff but the old man and his toothless wife in the gatehouse, a cook, two serving wenches and a handful of stable boys and servants. He had left the guards at the gatehouse, where they would sleep as well. She would not leave the property. The house and its gardens were vast and offered entertainment enough and she would be safe here, at least he hoped so.

"It is lovely." He admitted.

"It is yours." She pressed her heels into the sides of her horse and Charles was left alone on the bridge. _Brilliant._

The days passed slowly in Kentwell Hall. They broke their fast together every morning, though their table was sparse in comparison to th buffets and banquets at court. Eggs and bacon and fried bread, a cup of light mead. After breakfast she walked through the gardens for hours, from one bush to another, walked along the brick wall at its end, smelled the climbing roses and the violets in the flowerbed. There was a huge, old weeping willow by the small pond and she spent her afternoons in its shade, sitting on a stone bench with a book or a quill and paper. Charles grudgingly allowed a messenger in, though the man did not come into the house but took the letters she had put on the steps and left her some in return.

She sent more letters to her friend Anne than she had ever spoken words to him, Charles noticed. Once he even saw her writing a letter to Talbot, starting with "Dear Lord Talbot". _At least she does not call him 'Francis'._

Charles himself was horribly bored. He tried to read some of her books but they did nothing to entertain him and there were no musicians or games or hunts to distract him. He stared at her from his bed chamber window for an hour sometimes, to his shame, watched her reading and writing and walking. She had not complained once. _She knows how dangerous the sweat is._ Not even the plague was as contagious, though it was more fatal. Her brother in Flanders was in danger too, and her sisters, although the sweat rarely made it that far North. _She is as safe as it gets though._ He had built a fortress, like Henry always did, and the king had rarely been ill. He had sent Charles a letter too, full of useful bits of advice to keep the sickness at bay, to fight it, to ward it off. Fear clung to his every word. The Queen was with the Princess Mary now, far away from London in the cold hills of Wales. Henry had fled to Yorkshire, a draughty manor close to the coast, where the air was fresh and the people were few. Charles was not a godly man, admittedly, but he prayed every morning and every night to the mother Mary and every saint he could remember, to end the sickness and to keep the king...and them, here at Kentwell. _Her._

They ate dinner together again, though she seemed to lack appetite. Only the cook's pastries and cakes could cheer her up. Soon, Charles ordered applecakes for breakfast as well, something she acquiesced in with a gracious dinner they retreated to a comfortable parlour on the first floor. There were books there, a harp and a clavichord and she played for him a few times. She did it as she did everything: With grace and expression, and without any mistake. It was maddening.

"This was my mother's." She traced the carved initials on the clavichord. _ES._

"Do you remember her?" he asked, suddenly intrigued. He knew much about her father, the boisterous, arrogant, slow-witted but quick-tempered, with fine manners he did not make use of very often and a demanding attitude that endeared him neither to the king nor to his peers. His daughter Elizabeth, Norfolk's wife, had taken after her father, so had the flirtatious, witless, short-sighted Mary. Charles did not know Catherine's brother well but as he had fled the country, he took him for as much of a coward as his father. Catherine was brave though, spirited and quick-witted, charming if she wanted to be and wiser than her lord father had ever been.

"I was eight when she died." Her voice was thin in the silence of the parlour. "She was kind and had soft hands, a sweet singing voice. She always told me to do my best, to make my father proud. She was always overseeing my Latin." Now Catherine smiled. "Whenever I had done exceptionally well, she would allow me to accompany her on her morning ride. She was a skilled horsewoman, wise, soft-spoken and an obedient wife." Now, an edge had crept into her tone. _She has too much of her father in her to ever be an obedient wife._ That was what he liked about her. And that was also what Henry liked about his Mistress Boleyn.

"What about you? Do you remember your parents?"

"My father died when I was still a little boy but my mother lived to see me grow a beard. I have a sister too, Ann, she lives in Dorset with her husband and children." They were not at all close though. Ann was far older than Charles and had never shown any interest in her younger brother until he had risen so high in the king's favour.

She only nodded. She had two sisters and a brother, but one sister had decided to positively ignore her, apart from a few curt nods and stilted words, her brother had not talked to her since he had fled the country and the other sister sent her a letter every day, begging her for gold or land, a jewel or a house, a cloak of velvet or a saddle of leather and gold. She replied to every single one, Charles had found out, and sent her sister gold and jewellry as much as she could spare. She had reduced her own wardrobe expenses to help her sister.

They went to bed soon after moon rise, early nights and early mornings. Their chambers lay on the same corridor. Every night, they walked there together, he bowed in front of her chamber door and waited until she had closed it behind her. Tonight, she curtsied as well. The corridor was dimly lit, her eyes were large and soft in the yellow light.

"Good night, Your Grace." she said, her voice a feather.

"Good night, Catherine." She smiled when he said her Christian name, only for a brief moment. Then she closed the door in his face and he was alone with the tallow candles. _She smiled._ It was silly but it made him feel like a boy again, and his heart raced as if he had just played a game of tennis. He felt light-headed though and fell asleep thinking of her.

There was only awkwardness left the next morning, though: She pulled her hand back when he wanted to give her the butter and the clay butter dish fell to the floor and broke into a hundred pieces. She apologised profusely at least twenty times, though without ever looking him in the eye.

He spent his afternoon in the house once again, far away from the windows. Charles sat in the downstairs library, just off the entrance hall, polishing his sword at first, then writing a half-hearted letter to the king. His hand hurt afterwards. He had just pressed his seal, the Brandon's lion rampant on a striped field, into the hot red wax, when he heard the messenger at the door and the maid who took the letters. She knocked respectfully before she entered the library.

"Two letters for you, Your Grace." She never lifted her head but kept her eyes lowered demurely. She was pretty, with blonde hair and pale skin for a maid, and in his days as a standard-bearer's son, he would have considered to show her the haystack in the stables. Now, though, he was a duke, widower of the most beautiful princess of Christendom, warden of the most wayward, most wilful, most bewitching creature in the whole of England, perhaps the entire world, and this maid was only a daisy.

"Are there letters for the Lady Catherine as well?" he asked. These were his servants, not hers. The maid could not read, no doubt, but the messenger had sorted them into two stacks.

"Four, Your Grace."

"From whom?" He had asked the question before he had thought about it.

The maid tried to remember the messenger's words: "Two from a Lord Francis Talbot, one from a Mistress Boleyn from Kent and one from Northumberland, from a Brother Phillip."

 _That is not good at all._

"Good. Thank you. Bring them to her at once."

He gave Catherine half an hour to read her letters. Then he stepped out into the gardens. The afternoon sun was blinding and bright but it could not lighten up his mood. She sat on the stone bench under the willow in the corner of the main garden and seemed quite composed. When he came closer, he saw tears on her cheeks though.

Suddenly, he was not sure whether it had been such a brilliant notion. Surely, he was the last person she wanted to see. _I am the only one here though._ She raised her head.

"Mary is dead." Her voice was thick with grief. "The sweat took her life, hers and that of her husband and two of her children as well." Charles sat down next to her. Her eyes were swollen. _Mary would not have shed a single tear for her._ Catherine was half a girl still that had been forced to grow up quickly.

He felt sorry for her, although he did not share her grief, to his great shame.

Her lashes left wet traces on her skin, her eyes were swollen and there were two red spots on her cheeks. She was beautiful even in her sorrow.

Charles did not know what to do. They were not so familiar that he could take her hand. Neither could he say something like 'They are with the Lord now'. So, he just sat there silently and listened.

"Their eldest son survived, he was at the local priory to study Latin, and two daughters were spared too, a girl of five and a babe still in the cradle. Elizabeth and Katherine. She named the little one for me." There were already enough Elizabeths and Katherines to plaster a road from here to Edinburgh but Charles did not say it. Neither did he say that Mary had surely hoped for a generous gift in return.

"Poor little orphans." Tears rolled down her cheeks again and she started to sob. "They are all alone now. Their uncle won't have them all, only the boy, for the lands and income." Her voice was barely understandable.

Her fingers clutched a handkerchief of white linen, edged with pale blue crochet lace. Without thinking about, he took it from her hand and gently dabbed the tears away that covered her reddened cheeks. He realised what he was doing when she looked at him with blank astonishment in her shiny green eyes. Suddenly embarrassed, he wanted to give her the handkerchief back. Her hands lay in her lap, palms up. They were white and her veins blue, the skin soft and her fingers long and slender. His hand hovered over hers, her could feel the heat that radiated from her skin. Drawn to her like one of Thomas More's magnets, Charles's fingers grazed hers ever so lightly when he placed the kerchief in her hand. She looked at his face as if there was nothing else in the word, and he held her intense gaze. When his fingers touched hers, her eyes widened for a moment, the fracture of a moment, in surprise. Then, Charles felt her responding to his touch: Her thumb caressed the side of his hand so lightly that he almost thought it was a breeze. But all of a sudden, she seemed to be roused from thoughts, looked down at their hands, joined on her lap, and pulled her own hand back as if she had burnt herself.

She rose from the bench, her cheeks flaming red. "Thank you." she muttered and rushed off with long steps, leaving him alone in the shade of the weeping willow. Her handkerchief lay in the grass only a few steps away from the bench, she must have dropped it in her haste to get away from him. Charles picked it up, sighing. He should not have touched her. But he had never been a man that found it easy to resist temptation, and with her, temptation was so strong. It did not matter. She would never appreciate his touch, for all the things she knew about him, or thought she knew. He could put tell her the truth, but what good would it do? He would betray a friend, a king, and gain nothing. She would still despise him for all the other things, his past, his family and upbringing, his intellect and education. And he despised her too, for her haughtiness and pride. He did, truly. So why did he feel so empty now that she had left? Why was he so gravely disappointed that she had practically fled from his touch?

He was not in the mood to dwell on it. Soon enough, the sickness would be over and they would be able to flee the secludedness and each other's presence. For that was what they both wanted, wasn't it?

* * *

Lady-Finwe: Thank you! I will definitely continue!

Grace: I liked Catherine Willoughby at first, but I agree, she was just super judgemental and did nothing to ease Charles's guilty conscience. And in real life, she was like thirty years younger and betrothed to Charles's son, and that did not make for a great love story in my eyes^^.

Danielle and Lily: I am a huge Anne Boleyn fan, although I acknowledge her flaws: She was too much like Henry to make him happy forever, I fear. But I find her intriguing and fascinating.

I know that Talbot is horrible and I'm happy you all hate him^^. He won't hang around for too long, I promise. This is a kind of Darcy/ Wickham contrast ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you all so much for your feedback! It really gives me motivation, I think this my quickest update so far!**

* * *

 **Kentwell Hall, Suffolk**

 **Catherine**

She normally did not drink wine before dinner, her sister Elizabeth owed her red eyes and nose to the flagon she drank before noon, but today, Cat had every excuse to have a cup. Mary was dead, and her husband and two of her children with her. Catherine was aware that her sister had stayed in touch for the money and small jewels she had sent her from time to time but Mary still left a hole in her heart, right next to the one where her father had been. Grasping and greedy or not, Mary had always been closest to her of all her siblings. Mary had been funny as well, and daring, the very image of her father personality wise. It had been her end as well. She had hated her days in the North. The Barons of Bergavenny were of old blood but impoverished and she had not been able to keep up the lifestyle she had led in the south. Her husband had been old, over fifty, though not quite as terrible to look upon as she had feared. Despite her unhappiness, she had given birth to five children in their short marriage. George the heir, named for his father, Bess and little Kitty had survived...so far.

Catherine had to write to that Brother Phillip and beseech him to take the three children in. They were her nieces and nephew after all and it seemed as if no one else cared for them, at least not for the two girls. Perhaps she should write to the king and ask him to grant her the wardship. _He would allow it, but mine own warden might not._ She forbade herself to think of what had just happened in the garden but as always, her mind ignored that.

Her thoughts went back to that stone bench, to the feeling of his hand on hers. He had been so close to her, his shoulder had touched hers and she had felt the heat of his body on her skin. And the way he had looked at her...It had made her feel so vulnerable, like an open book, and worst was that she had thoroughly enjoyed the feeling. It had taken all of her self-restraint to do what was logical, and not what felt right. It had _been_ right to get up and leave, to flee from him who filled her chest with contradictory feelings. But it had _felt_ right to sit with him, to hold his hand and let him console her in her sorrow. If she had stayed only a moment longer, she would have shown weakness. His face had been so close to hers and his lips had been so within reach. She had never before noticed how bright his eyes were, how soft and kind, blue like a cloudless sky. She had never noticed the soft arch of his lips, and how smooth they were. Most men had dry lips. She wondered how it would have felt- And was ashamed of it. Mary had just _died_ , her children were somewhere in a draughty manor in Northumberland, crying their eyes out and wishing for someone to rescue them no doubt and all she did was thinking about _him_ of all men. Cat took another sip. The wine always made her sleepy and it was tranquillity she needed now, for her thoughts and feelings were as turbulent as an autumn storm.

She had to forget about that incident in the gardens. It meant nothing. All he wanted was her income, her inheritance. Had she not heard enough about him to be certain that he had neither sympathy nor decency? _I heard it, yes, but from whom? Not from his friends, that much is certain._ It had been her Lord Father who had told her to beware of Brandon, and Francis who had convinced her of the duke's dishonest intentions. _He might not be as bad as they paint him but he did disgrace Mary, and who know how many other ladies at court without the hint of a guilty conscience._

No, he wanted her inheritance and that was it. But he knew that it would be gone if she married, so he tried to charm her. He _was_ charming, she had seen him with other ladies. Perhaps he was sick of teasing her and wanted something else, something sweeter.

Catherine blushed, all alone in her room. She should not even think of that. He could try all he wanted, she would not give _that_ up.

Anne had seen through him: Brandon wanted her income, and if he had to marry her to keep it, he would. Of course, there was nothing Catherine wanted less… And he had not even stayed true to his last wife, the Queen of France, the king's own sister. He would never be faithful to a traitor's daughter and no one would fault him. And of course, she did not even consider him for a moment.

No, Catherine would show him that she was not one of his other _ladies_ , that she was not like Mary. In France, some had called her _la vierge de fer_ , the iron maiden, and Anne as well, but they both had never been used and discarded like an old mare. She would allow no man to use her, not _him_ either, no matter how blue his eyes were, or how gentle his hands or how witty his jests.

 _I will have to be civil though._ She wanted him to grant her the wardship over her nieces and nephew.

It was almost a pity. She would miss their war of words.

Catherine was about to sit down to write a letter, to the king this time, when she remembered the other letters, from Anne and Francis. They were still on the stone bench in the gardens. Which meant she would have to go back and hope that he was already inside again.

Quiet as a shadow did she scurry down the stairs and through the reception chamber at the back of the house with its tall lead glass doors that led out to the gardens.

The weeping willow stood by the pond at the far end of the garden, in a corner far away from the Italian flowerbeds and hedges, from the fountains and gravelled paths. Relief rushed through her when she saw that the stone bench was empty, only to leave her again as soon as she noticed that the letters were gone too.

She would have to ask him. For a moment she considered to wait till the evening, until dinner, where they would meet anyway. But then she shook her head and squared her shoulders. She was behaving like an utter fool. She was a Stafford of Buckingham, the blood of kings, and no coward. And the duke was, after all, still a gentleman. She feared her own reaction and feelings more than anything he could do, in all truth. But she would not allow that to rule her.

Cat rushed over to the manor again. The great reception chamber was empty, so was the library where he often sat and wrote his letters. She almost cursed. That meant that he was in his bedchamber, whatever he did in there during the day. It was one thing to talk to a man in a reception chamber and another entirely to knock on the door of his bedchamber. She climbed up the stairs slowly, hoping that he would come out of his room suddenly but fate was not so kind. So she found herself in front of his door and knocked. She waited for an eternity but not long enough. When he opened the door, she saw surprise, joy, anger and embarrassment chase across his face in rapid succession. After her eyes had adjusted to the light after the darkness of the upstairs corridor, she understood why. Clearly, he had expected a servant. He was apparently dressing for dinner but he was not done yet. He wore boots and breeches but his doublet hung over the back of a chair and he only wore a thin linen shirt that gaped open in the front and did not much to hide what was underneath. Catherine stared at his chest for a long moment before she noticed it and cast her eyes down in embarrassment though with a pang of regret. He _was_ a handsome man. When she dared to raise her gaze again, he wore a doublet and an expression of embarrassment to match her own.

"Forgive me." she said stiffly, just to break the silence.

"No-" he started, then stopped, and started again. "No, I should have- I just didn't expect you. My lady."

He was waiting for something and Catherine realised that she had not explained her purpose there. As far as he could know, she had only come to stare.

"I forgot some of my letters on the stone bench, I fear. Did you take them inside by any chance, Your Grace? " Her voice and tone were still wooden but at least she could look him in the eye.

He nodded briefly, and she thought she could see disappointment in his blue eyes but perhaps it was only the light.

"Here." He handed her a pile of letters and she left him alone, both relieved and regretful.

She opened Anne's letter on the way to her bedchamber although the light in the hallway was dim. It had been a while since Anne's last letter and she was curious to know what had delayed her.

She had not even read the salutation when something else caught her eye: A hastily added postscript, not in Anne's narrow, flowing hand but in a broader, more angular writing.

 _Lady Catherine, Anne has not yet been able to sent this letter, I found it on her table. She has fallen ill and Father and my brother as well. It is the sweat. Pray for them. Lady Mary Carey._

Catherine did not remember gasping but she must have for the duke came rushing out of his chamber.

"What is it? The king?" There was fear in his voice.

"Anne." Cat replied, lost for words. She had been sad when she had heard about Mary, who was her true sister of the blood but now...Anne was only ill, not dead, but Cat was devastated. She was her only friend, the only one she trusted in this fickle world, despite her weaknesses. Should she die…

The duke had taken the letter from her hands to read it for himself.

"The postscript." she pointed at Mary Boleyn's tall, inelegant letters and the duke's eyes followed her finger.

"Henry..." He rushed down the stairs and Cat followed. She understood. Anne and Henry had always been close. They had been in Suffolk for less than a fortnight and Anne had been ill for a while, judging by the date of her last letter, so it could well be that Henry had contracted the disease as well.

Brandon ripped a letter open that lay on the table in the library and skimmed it. Then he sighed.

"His Majesty is well. He sent his best physician to your friend with every potion he had in stock. You need not worry." It was a kind lie. There was no _potion_ against the sweat.

Once again, Cat was crying, sobbing this time.

The duke took a step towards her, then paused. Then he took another step and stood right in front of her. Catherine saw it through a veil of tears. She felt his hands on her shoulder and back, warm and comforting.

"Mistress Anne is perseverant. If someone can survive the sweat, it is surely her."

Despite herself, she had to smile. "The sweat will flee in fear." she agreed. Hopefully. She would speak a dozen prayers for her, but the Lord was fickle when it came to sickness. It often took those that deserved to live most. It had taken her mother, too.

"It has been a cruel day for you." Brandon muttered somewhere over her right ear. "Perhaps you should go to bed, get some rest. I will send a maid up with your dinner."

It was a kind offer but if there was something she did not want right now it was being alone.

"That is very kind of you. But I cannot. I would only think about it-"

All the time. Imagine her sister dead in her bed with a face of ash on wet sheets, her young daughter, that had by a quirk of fate not caught the disease, looking down at her mother with big eyes, the crying babe in her arms.  
Anne's face, as white as the pillows under head, in a cruel contrast to her raven hair, beads of sweat on her forehead and her eyes feverish and mad.  
Her thoughts also went back to her father, pale but composed up on the scaffold as he laid his cheek on the oak wood block, she remembered the executioner's axe, the sounds, a deep "thump" followed screams and gasps, and the blood that had come rushing out of her father's neck in a thick stream of crimson.  
Even further in the past was her mother, grey and pale and lifeless and not at all as if she slept. Too many people had died around her. Anne could not- God could not be so cruel.

The duke was still embracing her, his left hand rubbed circles on her back, her head rested against his chest, her tears stained the fabric of his grey linen doublet, the one he had just put on in front of her.

Only half an hour ago, she had sworn not to come close to him again. But it did not matter anymore. She had been sad before but now she was devastated, and also scared, not for her own life, but for her dearest friend's and that was infinitely more important. And he was here for her, warm and steady and kind. Perhaps her father and Francis and Anne had been wrong. But even if he was only after her inheritance, what did it matter now? She would readily marry the first vagrant that crossed her path if it only pleased the Lord to spare Anne.

"You should eat something." he said uncertainly and it dawned on her that he was not very experienced when it came to consoling crying damsels. Somehow, she found it endearing.

"I'm not hungry." she whispered back, her voice muffled by his doublet.

"Have a cup of wine at least." he tried to convince her. She was unsure. She had already had one, and her stomach was surely upset. But Catherine longed for the apathy and dulled senses that came with the alcohol so she agreed. The duke led her to an upholstered chair and walked over to the serving cabinet. Cat missed his warmth already. He poured two cups himself, old-fashioned golden cups, deep and heavy. He handed her one and sat down opposite her. She saw with embarrassment that her tears had indeed left a stain on his doublet.

"You never liked Anne." Cat took a sip of wine and Brandon shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"No", he admitted.

"Why not?"

"She rose too high too quickly." The duke shrugged. "And she followed her sister too readily. Henry is my oldest friend. I would rather see him in the arms of his loyal wife than in those of a knight's daughter that has set her eyes on the crown."

"Women rarely have a choice in this world." Catherine smiled sadly. "When Lord Rochford tells his daughters to jump, all they may reply is "How high, father?" Mary did as her father commanded, and she did more than that out of free will." _In France, for example._ "And we all see how little it served her. Lord Rochford and Norfolk have no time for those that disappoint them. Mary is no more than a shadow now, where she has been the sun before. But Anne is different. She would never follow in Mary's footsteps, never become a whore, no matter what her father commands. She loves the king, she does. But she cannot admit it. Once she does, her family will think it her weakness. The whole court will not think of her as a charming, enigmatic woman that managed to capture the king with her mind alone. No, then she will be nothing more than a young girl who fell in love with a king and was so lucky that he returned her affections." Catherine saw that he was not convinced despite her wordy defense.

"Anne has achieved what few women achieve these days. She is respected by men."

Now, Brandon swayed his head.

"She is...but for what? No one will deny her intelligence or wit. But it was her ruthless scheming that brought her where she is now, her scheming and the king's wandering eye. She has tied her fate to a fickle man, and I say that as Henry's friend."

He was right but that did not explain why he did not like her.

"Maybe so. But she set this country on fire. She changed everything for women."

"Only that old wives can now be discarded." Brandon smiled sadly.

"You are determined to hate her." Catherine accused him.

"As you are determined to love her." That was true.

"We were together in France. She was the only one to write to me when I was all alone. I have two sisters, and one of the half blood, but none of them ever did for me what Anne did."

The duke look at her for a long moment.

"You have been alone for a long time, haven't you?"

She squared her shoulders. This was not about her. This was about Anne.

"No." She said defensively.

And even if...he had been just as alone. The only true friend he had was the king. Compton and Knivert, Norris and Carew, they all were envious of his high position. The lords of the old blood, Howard and Stafford, Percy and Neville, Hastings and Talbot were all dismissive and scornful as well as envious. Brandon was stuck somewhere in between, quite like Anne and her faction, not part of the gentry but neither were they really part of the high nobility.

Whether he was aware of his own position or not, he did not dwell on it and Cat was grateful.

"Mistress Anne is not well loved, neither at court nor in the country." he warned. "I will support the king in everything, but others might not."

That much was true.

"Anne was always someone who fascinated, someone who inspired awe and jealousy, not loyalty." Anne had a large family although Norfolk, her most powerful family member, was no longer as staunch a supporter as he once had been.

The duke nodded. "I find that loyalty is often underestimated."

There was the hint of a smile in his eyes and Cat understood. All the noble lords and ladies that cared only for names and titles and incomes would be gone in the moment when her influence was declining. A true friend, like she herself was to Anne, like the duke was to the king, was worth more than all the attention she received now. Anne knew this...but what could she do? _For now it would suffice to survive._

Miles away in Kent, Anne was lying in her fine bed, the curtains half drawn, her thoughts racing and without continuity. Her fever was high, the illness strong but her will to survive was stronger. She had a life to live.

 **~o~**

 **Charles**

The news of Anne Boleyn's recovery reached them early in the morning, not a week later. Catherine had been quiet and solemn all week, neither furious nor extreme in her grief. As all ladies of the upper class, she wore a mask of porcelain and had allowed him a brief glimpse but never more. Sometimes, when he was especially masochistic, he remembered how it had felt to hold her in his arms. He remembered the wetness of her tears on his chest and the warmth of her body against is. She had withdrawn afterwards, was even less tangible than she had been before. She was kind, distanced, polite and he would have never thought that one day, he would long to have the wildcat back. Now that her friend had recovered, she arranged her sister's affairs. Apparently, the funeral had already taken place, it often happened as early as possible if the unfortunate subject had succumbed to a contagious illness. Catherine's nieces were in a nunnery, the boy still lived in the priory but his paternal uncle wanted to take him in. No doubt for the vast lands the boy would inherit. It were lands in Northumberland so Charles really did not care, but if it pleased his uncle, he would not object. He would no doubt give the boy his own daughter's hand in marriage. He could not complain.

He was outside in the gardens. They would soon return to court, the king would resume his summer progress, though on a smaller scale and only in the North, Yorkshire, Cumbria and Northumberland. Charles was both relieved and wistful to depart. He was now fully aware that there was something he felt for her. Something he was not used to at all. Something he rather did not name. He ignored it as well as he could for she did not return his feelings. At court, she would have Talbot again and he would dance with her and make her laugh. But here, he had felt strangely close to her, and he wanted more of this although he tried hard to deny those thoughts. _It is only the loneliness. I could spend a fortnight in the countryside with someone like Jane Boleyn and I would have the same feelings._ She was a distraction, nothing more. Charles had grown up at court, he needed the amusements and activities, the feasts and frolics. This secludedness and solitude brought out his penchant for brooding. He was not a great thinker, he should stop over-thinking this and distract himself...but with what?

"Your Grace? Would you like to play a game of cards?" She appeared in the library door, more beautiful than a fantasy and with a polite smile on her full lips. _Just the distraction I needed._ He sighed internally.

"Why not?" _There are a hundred reasons against it, I know exactly why not._ But he took the card deck from the shelf anyway. _A hundred reasons against one. No, no one could ever accuse me of being wise._

They sat down at the card table.

"What is your wager, my lady?" he asked.

"I don't know. What do you want?" Her eyes were guileless but Charles couldn't help but laugh out loud. _You don't want to know what I want, little wildcat._


	11. Chapter 11

**I really need to apologise. I'm sorry I haven't updated in weeks. It was for family reasons and I fear I won't be able to update once a week anymore because of that. But I will definitely not abandon this story!**

So this chapter is a lot of drama again...Sorry. I'm building up to something (next chapter, in fact), then I will take a break from drama, I promise!

Chapter 12 is almost finished as well, so I hope I will be able to update once again this week, or otherwise early next week!

* * *

 **Derbyshire  
~o~**

 **Catherine**

Catherine was both relieved and disappointed to be back at court. They were on summer progress now, if you could count Henry's flight from the big cities a summer progress. The worst was over but the sweat still lurked in the streets of London and Oxford and York, ready to strike out again. Henry had chosen small manors in the countryside for his diminished court of barely two hundred. Yet, the court was merry and Anne and Henry led the festivities, determined not to allow the illness, the Pope or the Queen to ruin their summer. Anne was pale by her standards and even thinner than before but the summer sun gave her skin a healthier colour and the banquets did the rest.

With Anne came her family. Her sister and brother, her father and mother, her uncles and aunts, cousins...

This was the Howard summer and they gave no one reason to doubt this. The ladies and gentlemen Anne's faction did not approve of had been sent to wait on the Queen and Princess Mary and there was no doubt those poor devils were facing the dullest summer of their lives. But here, in sunny Derbyshire, far away from the sweat, far away from the Queen and duty, life was wonderful. Catherine sat under an old tree in the vast garden of this splendid, impressive manor house with outbuildings and extensions in the modern Tudor style. The gentlemen had just withdrawn for a short council meeting and Anne was still resting- or so Catherine had thought.

"Cat!" Her friend wore bright yellow satin, almost golden in the afternoon sunlight, and the matching hood looked almost like a crown as she ran down the grassy hill to Cat's tree.

"Have you heard?" she asked, a little out of breath. "The Cardinal has once again failed bitterly with the Pope. It is in the hands of a papal legate now, and he will be here in autumn. That is all Wolsey achieved after years of diplomacy. I wonder… do you think he is truly this useless? Or is his hatred for me so strong that he would act against the king's wishes?"

Catherine was sure that it was neither.

"He does his best, I am certain, but his power on the continent was never overwhelming, and now it decreases to the same extent as his power in England. He will soon fall from grace. You can afford to be generous."

But the illness had made Anne only more determined.

"He is working against me as he always has. This _legate_ will only bring further delay, mark my words. Nothing good has come from Rome as of recently and I feel like the Pope is no longer only the servant of God but rather the servant of the Emperor."

She did have a point there but it was dangerous to criticise the Pope, even now, even here.

"Mind your words, Anne. He is still the Pope. What will you do when Campeggio denies Henry the annulment?" Cat had always thought that nothing would stop Anne from getting what she wanted. But now…

"I gave the king Tynedale's bible. And a few very interesting books."

"From France."

They had both met Marguerite de Navarre, King Francis's enigmatic, intellectual sister and had read the books she had recommended. And then, they had ventured even further into the deep, intriguing forest of heresy. It was dangerous in England though, Henry was the 'Defender of the Faith'... although, as of recently, he was not as devoted to the Pope as he once had been.

"Indeed. And Henry found them very interesting, and refreshing. They challenge the old order of things, and as it happens, that is exactly what he needs."

"You think he will break with Rome and follow Luther?"

Not even Henry could be so changeable. Ten years ago, more or less, he had written a whole book to denounce Luther and his religious beliefs. He could not turn to him now that a different view was more convenient.

"Luther? Never. But the idea of not having to follow the Pope's orders is growing on him slowly."

Cat was not sure what to think. She did not agree with the old ways, surely. She prayed on her own, sometimes, without a priest. And she prayed directly to the Lord himself. There was truth in it: They were all the Lord's children so why would he not listen to her? But there had been other things in those books they had read, atrocities...Some had even claimed that the Holy Mother Mary had not been a virgin. She hoped that those were the books Anne had buried under a few loose stones in their chamber in Paris.

"Rightly so." she agreed with Anne in so far. "The Pope has never been chosen by the Lord, not more than Henry."

"He is king by God's grace, and not by the Pope's. And he starts to realise how easy it could be. But we cannot risk an outrage so he will send some theologians to the learned courts on the continent, to Germany and France and Italy. The Germans will agree with him, the Italians will love to disagree and France will be divided, as always. So Henry can decide quite freely whom to follow. Let us pray for war between Francis and Charles."

It took Catherine a moment to realise that Anne talked about the king and the emperor, not the duke and the lord. Her heart had skipped a beat.

"Are you feeling fine, Cat? You look pale."

"No. I am fine. Just the heat." she smiled. Anne should not find out about her oddly complicated feelings. It would give them more importance, more weight, and Catherine could really do without another complication.

"It is terrible, I know." Anne said lazily. "It will be cooler tonight though. Henry has planned a marvellous feast, outside in the garden, with a hundred torches burning, and a huge tent of silk and gauze." _Ah, another feast._ She had almost run out of gowns to wear.

"Have you already asked the duke to grant you the wardship?"

That was salt in her wounds. Catherine had the feeling the duke evaded her ever since they had returned to court.

"Not yet."

"Once they are of age, it won't matter anymore." Anne japed. "What is the worst he can do, Cat? If he says no, I'll tell Henry. The king is fond of you, he will give you what you want if it comes so cheaply."

"He is fond of me because he is fond of you, Nan." Catherine had to smile.

"No." Anne shook her head. "He is truly fond of you. He said as much to Brandon the other day."

"What did he say to Brandon?"

Anne's dark eyes scrutinised her. Then she smiled.

"Did you two spend a lovely summer in the country?"

"It was not love-" Catherine tried to defend herself but Anne grinned now.

"That was what Henry said to Brandon. Truly, Cat, if I didn't know better, I would say that you have taken a liking to that _upjumped standard bearer._ "

"What did Brandon reply?" Catherine knew she had lost. They had known each other for so long that neither could hide something from the other.

"He said that he enjoyed it but that the last week was very cold." _Because I distanced myself from him._

"So you have actually found it in you to overcome your aversion?" Anne asked, intrigued.

"Don't be ridiculous. He was very kind. But that doesn't change a single thing."

"On the contrary. It changes everything. But does he feel the same?"

"Anne, please. Whatever I might feel, I feel it against my reasoning, against my pride and certainly against my will. It will go away. Three weeks all alone with him, a few tears and gut-wrenching events, there you have the reasons. Here at court, he is one star amongst so many, and he is surely not the brightest one. You must swear never to tell anyone."

"I solemnly swear to take your secret to my grave." Suddenly, Anne grinned. "The brightest star of all is just coming your way. I hope you are not sick of him already."

Cat sighed. In all truth, yes, she was sick of Talbot. But sending him away bluntly, now after all that happened, would provoke a lot of unwanted questions. And his advances were balm for her scratched soul. Catherine found it hard to admit, but the duke's ignorance hit her harder than she would have thought.

"Lady Catherine." Talbot was tall and lean and handsome. Why, for the sake of God, could she not fall in- _become interested_ in him? It would be so much easier. But Talbot lacked the simple gentleness and straightforwardness that recommended Brandon to her, Francis was not one to care for a friend more than for himself. He might have taken a liking to her, Cat was unsure. But he was a highborn lord, and his attention and thoughts usually revolved around one person: Himself. He was witty and elegant and clever, more sophisticated than the duke could ever hope to be. But his manners were cool as silver and his words nothing but hot air. Somehow, living at court had shown her the emptiness of nobility, their feigned sympathy and sweet words, their betrayal and backstabbing. Brandon was low born, yes, but he was loyal and refreshingly unpolished. _If only he had not visited half the ladies in their chambers._ He was a skirt chaser, although it seemed he was more discreet about it now. _And remember how he treated Mary, and his wife._ Yes, that made her feel a little less drawn towards him. A little.

"Lord Talbot." She allowed him to kiss her hand.

"And the Lady Anne."

"Lord Talbot, it is always so wonderful to see you. Of course you will attend the feast tonight?" Anne's tone was so warm that it made up for Catherine's coolness.

"Oh, certainly." He did not look so certain though when he looked back to Catherine.

"Are you feeling well, my lady?" he enquired politely.

"Yes." Cat forced herself to smile. It was not his fault after all that her heart seemed to develop a mind of its own. "It is just the heat. Forgive me."

He was appeased. "I hope it will not be too warm to dance tonight." He sat down next to them on the grass, as effortlessly gracefully as a young cat.

"Hopefully not." Anne said. "I intend to go to bed with the rising sun."

"An ambitious plan, my lady." Talbot grinned at Cat mischievously. "I shall go to bed when my sun sets."

A shadow was cast over their small party. "How _poetic_." Brandon had soft footsteps but a cutting tone.

"Your Grace." Talbot did not stand up for the duke as he should have. "I heard that your efforts were quite fruitless. Do not take it to heart. Only few men are born to be poets. You have other talents, I am certain." _Why can't you two just be civil, at least for one single day?_

Catherine rose to make up for the lack of respect the other two showed.

"Do you want to sit with us, Your Grace? The heat is only bearable in the shadows."

The duke gave her a thin-lipped smile. "Too kind of you, Lady Catherine. But we commoners were made for tougher stuff. And I do not want to disturb your extraordinary poetic conversations with my mundanity. Lord Talbot is right. Some men are born for it, some are not." He gave her a stiff bow and turned on his heel. She stood and watched him rushing off with long, angry strides.

"That was ill done." Catherine remarked. "My lord, you show a lack of respect in your interaction with the duke. I know that you do not approve of him but that is no reason for your impertinent behaviour." The words were out before she had properly thought about them and Anne arched a brow at her. _Well-done._ Catherine could practically hear the sarcasm dripping from her voice. It was unfair criticism as well, for she herself had treated the duke with nonchalant impertinence ever since her arrival at court.

"I was not aware that you feel so strongly about him." Talbot was displeased. "If he is so dear to you, I shall treat him with more respect from now on. Not with the respect he is due as the son of a standard bearer but with with the respect he deserves as your guardian and trusted friend."

"He is not my friend." Catherine was about to shout loudly when Anne came to her rescue.

"Catherine wants to ask His Grace to grant her the wardship for her young nieces and nephew. You will understand, certainly, that she cannot afford to displease him."

Talbot rose to his feet effortlessly and took Cat's hands. "How selfless of you, my lady. Your sister's children? You will be a kind and generous aunt, I am certain. The duke shall not refuse you because of my behaviour. I will apologise to him, if you want me to and I will treat him respectfully from now on. You must forgive me. I was unaware."

As everything he said, his short speech was urgent and dramatic, his voice clear and always a bit too loud.

"There is no need to apologise, my lord. But I thank you for your efforts. It would indeed help me a lot."

Talbot planted a kiss on each of her hands.

"To help you, sweet lady, is my greatest desire."

He bowed again and left the two women in the grass under the lime tree.

"Well, I think it will be very hard for you to rid yourself of him elegantly." Anne was not at all helpful.

Catherine sank to the ground again.

"Thank you, Anne." she said sardonically.

"But I also think that Suffolk's hearty dislike for our fine Lord Talbot stems from their rivalry for your attentions."

"They hated each other long before I was even at court."

Anne gave her a long measuring look.

"True indeed. But he feels something for you."

"Oh that. Hatred, I know." Anne was not helpful at all.

"Perhaps the duke is far more complex than we all knew." She laughed heartily.

Then she got up. "We should prepare for the feast."

"I can scarcely wait." Cat agreed with a sarcastic smile.

 **~o~**

 **Charles**

When he left the manor through the huge oaken double doors, he was rendered speechless. The gardens had been transformed into a scene from a fairy-tale. There were torches everywhere, wisps of silk and organza tied around low hanging branches, lanterns hung from trees and bushes and gave the garden an eerie atmosphere. There was a huge pavillion erected at the far end of the informal gardens, made from silk and gauze and -apparently- cloth of silver. It was striking from the outside but once he was inside, he was speechless once again. Stars were embroidered onto the canopy in thread of silver, chandeliers with dozens of candles hung from the high canopy as well, all silver and set with sparkling crystals. There were beaten mirrors along the walls that made the inside of the tent appear both bigger and brighter.

"Do you like the decorations, my lord?" a seductive, dark voice asked and for a moment, he mistook the woman for _her_. But it was Anne Boleyn, shining in a gown that was entirely made of cloth of silver. She wore a headpiece of silver, gemstones, sapphires or emeralds, he thought, and pale ostrich feathers that added almost a foot to her height.

"Very…magnificent." He agreed, now looking for the woman's friend. Mistress Boleyn saw through that, obviously.

"If you are looking for Catherine, she is not here yet. But she might appreciate it if you escort her from the house to the pavillion. The path is dark and there was a lot of wine flowing this afternoon. As her warden, it is your duty to protect her, isn't that so, my lord?"

She giggled lightly but the sharpness of her gaze was not even slightly dulled. Anne Boleyn spoke with a subtle French accent that made every word sound a promise, made her smile dark and luring, that made her laugh as enticing as a siren's song. But it was not this woman that intrigued him...

" Lady Catherine is quite able to protect herself."

"A sharp tongue is nothing against a strong man's arms, my lord." Again, she gave him a smile. _She noticed the way I look at_ her _, and now she makes fun of me for it._ Hopefully, she had not told her friend. _I am a fool to think of the little wildcat that way, but if there is one thing I excel in, it is folly._

"I hope you can hold your tongue, Lady Anne." he said. There was nothing he could do against this woman, but it did not hurt to remind her of his influence which was, despite everything, still considerable. _Tell her, and I might tell Henry things I heard._ Gossip was a despicable, weak weapon, but should Mistress Boleyn tell _her_ , he would not refrain from such methods.

"I know perfectly well when to stay silent, my lord." she assured him. "And when to speak up." Her grin was wolfish when she added that afterthought. He saw her eyes widen.

"It seems Lady _Cathérine_ has no need for a _chevalier_ anymore." From her mouth, _her_ name sounded like a seductive French song.

Charles turned around without another word. Indeed, Catherine stood there in the light of a hundred candles that made her hair look like spun gold. She wore a gown of pale blue samite and a huge aquamarine hung from her slender white neck and he thought he saw light blue gemstones sparkling on her headdress as well. Tonight, all unmarried ladies wore their hair loose with headpieces of silver and gold, decorated with gemstones and feathers. Catherine's was not as extravagant as the Mistress Anne's, but as elegant and lavish as befitted her status. She had not noticed them yet, her gaze wandered around the tent. She was looking for someone, certainly her friend. When she finally saw her, standing next to him with a sly smile on her face, she did not hide her surprise well. Charles thought he detected something else as well, something like urgent embarrassment, a warning look...but perhaps it was the light.

"I bid you a good evening, my lord." She curtsied lightly.

"Lady Catherine." he wanted to talk to her, apologise for his words earlier but he felt the Boleyn girl's eyes like needles on his skin and knew that he could not open up in front of her.

"Anne." Catherine had moved on. "An interesting headdress indeed. I must say, I think the feathers would have been of more use on a bird's wings than on your head. You might catch fire."

Charles hid a smile and Anne giggled.

"For once I am towering over you, Cat. Just admit: that is it what displeases you." She mocked her. Then her dark eyes found the king, splendid in cloth of gold slashed with night blue velvet. "You will excuse me." she purred. Anne Boleyn walked with elegance and grace, as if she danced on water, all eyes were on her. _She is a snake, a beautiful serpent._

Now Charles was alone with _her_ but he could not get the words out he had wanted to say. She seemed to have something on her mind as well.

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**

It took all her courage to say the words she had laid out so carefully.

"I wanted to ask you...Your Grace, as my sister is dead and her husband as well, God have mercy on their souls, their children have to close relative that cares for them. His Majesty would grant me the wardship, Your Grace, if you consent to it. My nephew is the baron of Bergavenny, he has an income, there will be no further expenses for you." It had not been so hard after all. She looked up to meet his gaze expectantly.

Brandon stared at her face with unmoving, blue eyes. She was not sure whether he had even heard her.

"Dance with me, Catherine," he said in an urgent whisper, his eyes still fixed on her and she felt the heat of his gaze almost physically. Was this some kind of trade? Was that his price? A dance? But _only_ a dance? Or did he want _more_? Catherine felt heat rising to her cheeks. The thought embarrassed her, but it did not repel her as it should. _Dance with me, Catherine._ His voice seemed softer now. _Yes_. She thought. _Yes, yes, yes._

"No." she said. "My lord, I do not think that would be wise." There would be no trade. In the end, women would always pay more than they had bargained for.

Disappointment and embarrassment succeeded desire and anticipation. His cheeks and neck were flaming red. _I cannot dance with you._ No matter how much she wanted to, this was not the court of love and dreams. And what she desired so much now would turn to ashes as soon as she had it. That much Catherine had learnt about life: Dreams never came true the way they were supposed to. _Most married men lie with other women. Few wives love their husbands._ That was well known. She would marry one day, she knew. And most certainly, her husband would stray from their marital bed. No doubt it would sting and hurt her pride, but if she went down that road with Brandon, the worst of them all, the man who bedded her sister and deserted her afterwards, it would truly hurt her, not only her pride but her heart which she had guarded and protected so well. And she would regret her foolishness. Allowing feelings to take over never led to happiness. Her sister had experienced this, Queen Mary of France had experienced this. She would not make their mistakes. _Once, he asked them to dance, too, all those years ago, he looked at them the same way._ That cleared her mind.

Brandon's eyes had changed: Now, they were frozen pools of scorn. "Wisdom has never been a quality of mine, or I would not stand here for you to humiliate me again." he said in a voice flat and sharp.

"I never meant-" She had not wanted to hurt him. She just had not wanted to hurt herself.

"You play with me like a cat with a mouse." He reached out to caress her cheek. Catherine inhaled sharply when she felt his fingers on her skin, cool against her heated red cheeks.

"But you have miscalculated, little cat. I am too much for you to swallow."

Abruptly, he let his hand sink. "I will send your wards to Sudbury Place, a manor not far from Kentwell. They will have teachers and wetnurses and governesses. The boy is the Baron of Bergavenny, his income is more than enough for three children away from court. But be assured that I am not doing this for you. This is not the result of your schemes and ploys. Do not expect any kind of favours of me anymore, my lady. And better be prepared for marriage." he added. "The king has a few candidates in mind. I must say, I do not envy them."

He left her standing there, stunned and speechless and close to tears. _I ruined everything. But it is better this way._ She tried to convince herself but to no avail. Catherine left the stuffy, overheated pavillion to clear her mind and dry her tears unseen.

' _I must say I do not envy them.'_ Even if she had agreed to dance with him, he would have never reciprocated her feelings. He would have made a fool out of her, and she would have paid for it with pain and misery. _Better I see it now than see it later._ Catherine wiped her eyes on her silk sleeve, thinking too late about the stains that would cause. _I will line it with cloth of silver._ Blue and silver, the colours of the night, of the cold. He had been cold this night. _Anne was wrong. There is no fondness in him, and I should have never hoped for more._ She was a girl, despite her years.

"Lady Catherine?" It was Francis Talbot, tall and handsome and delightfully unlike the duke.

"Mylord." She curtsied elegantly in the French way.

"I have been looking for you all night. Are you unwell?" _How perceptive of you._ He did not mention the tears though.

"These are tears of joy." she explained. "His Grace was so kind to give his consent." The lie came easy to her.

"I am pleased, I truly am." Talbot kissed her hand and did not let go of it. "Shall we dance? Or would you rather go for a walk?"

The gardens were beautiful in the moonlight but Catherine was no fool. Even here, so close to the tent, could she hear the muffled gasps and moans. It was a warm night, after all, and there had been plenty of wine. Talbot might hope for a walk and more, but Catherine had been at the French court. She was no milkmaid from Dorset.

"I promised you a dance, didn't I?" she smiled. "I would loathe to break a promise."

Talbot accepted her reply with a nonchalant nod but she sensed his well-hidden disappointment.

The duke was nowhere to be found inside, neither had he been in front of the tent. _He is in the gardens, no doubt, his hands under some pretty lady's skirt._

"It is truly a wonderful evening." Talbot smiled.

"Oh, wonderful indeed."

* * *

I hope you enjoyed it, despite all the drama. Please review! Praise or criticism, I honestly appreciate both!

Replies to reviews:

Guest1: I'm honoured that you gave mine a go despite your preferences. I will definitely not leave this unfinished! I have it all planned out and major parts are already written, they just need a bit of context and historical background and research takes a while.

Guest2: Thank you so much! As I said, I might not be able to update once a week, but I will do my best!

Rayna Silverstone: Thank you so much! I am happy you enjoy my story. Yes, I agree. As historically unaccurate as the show might be, it still manages to give an impression of the time!


	12. Chapter 12

**I will never, never promise to update in a week again... I'm sorry, it's almost a month now... I won't bore you with details from my private life, I just apologise!**

 **This is the last drama chapter, I promise, and I hope writing will flow better from now on, but I won't promise anything.**

 **Again, sorry for the long wait!**

* * *

 **Hampton Court Palace, early autumn**

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**

" _You did what_?" Catherine was so baffled and angry that she forgot her manners. "Are you mad? Have you taken leave of your wits?" It took all her self-restraint to keep her voice low, so as not to wake anyone. No one could witnes this... _scene._

Francis seemed taken aback. "Cat-" He was dressed in a travel cloak and had apparently not expected rejection.

"No. I am not 'Catherine' for you, and neither will I run away with you." His question alone… Did he take her for some steward's daughter?

"The horses are ready, there-" He started but she cut him off again.

" _The horses are ready_?"

 _Oh God have mercy, what a fool he is._

She clenched her fists. "Then the king knows. You fool. You have just cut both our heads off, and for what?" _There is no way out… Unless…_ She cursed Talbot for his folly, she cursed herself for her pride and vanity, cursed the world for putting her in this position, but it did not help. If she wanted to keep her head on her shoulders, there was only one way...

Still in her bedrobe, Catherine pushed him aside and ran down the long narrow corridor. There was only one man who could help her now, and it took everything in her to swallow her pride and seek him out.

On her way through deserted corridors, her mind was a mess. The king would know. She had seen this all before. It was a trap, and Francis had walked right into it and had taken her with him. Someone had told Norfolk weeks ago, Norfolk or Wolsey, though the latter had almost lost all his power. And Norfolk had forged a devious plan, surely together with the king, and Suffolk and God knew whom else. A plan to test not only Talbot's loyalty but also hers. She just hoped it was not too late.

The duke's chambers in Hampton Court were splendid and thankfully not far away from hers. Catherine knocked on the double-winged door. Two guards looked at her strangely but said nothing. _A lady in her night attire must be a frequent sight here_ , she thought with some bitterness.

When no one opened, Cat knocked again, and again until he finally opened.

He was surprised to see her, but not as surprised as he should be.

"Lady Catherine?" He was stiffly formal, too. The despair in her heart was growing.

"Talbot just came to my chambers." She started, desperate not to lose another second. "He wanted to convince me to run away with him in the dead of the night. He said he had planned it weeks ago...I had no idea. Please-" she was almost begging now. "Believe me, I had no part in this treason. I would have never agreed to marry him, let alone to betray my king and run away with him. I know the price traitors pay and Talbot is not worth it."

The duke's blue eyes had lost their sleepiness. "Everyone who saw you with Lord Talbot would believe the opposite." he said cautiously. _I have lost. And for what?_

"No." She shook her head insistently, desperate to convince him. "He flattered me and I accepted it graciously. It was never more than a courtly game for me. He claims it is love but it is not, neither for him nor for me. I was never in any danger from him, only from myself. My vanity and my pride brought me here." It was all so obvious now. "I always swore never to be like my father. And yet, here I am, making the same mistakes." It was a bitter draught to swallow.

"You are not-" The duke began, and she thought that perhaps, his gaze was not as icy anymore, when they were interrupted.

"Lady Catherine Stafford?" She had known it would come to this, from the moment Talbot had appeared in front of her chamber door. She turned around to the guardsmen after one last look at the duke.

"Yes." she replied and squared her shoulders. It was her fault and she would stand up for it.

"In the name of Henricus Rex, the eight of that name, we take you into custody on the grounds of treason."

She had heard this all before.

"I would never act against the king's wishes." she declared and allowed the two guards to take her by the arm. To her surprise, she was led back to her own chambers.

"You may not leave your chambers, my lady. Not until the king and his council have found a verdict."

All she could do now was to pray but she had little hope God would listen this time. Catherine knew how it looked, especially if Francis had been arrested as well. He would blame her, no doubt. She should not have been so harsh, she should have tried to persuade him to admit the truth… but it was too late for that now. Her fate was likely sealed. Others had climbed the stairs of the scaffold with less incriminating evidence.

Perhaps it was time to write her will. That was if the king did not declare her goods forfeited.

The night was still dark and it was a long time till morning but Cat could not find sleep. In the light of a single tallow candle, she wrote several letters...only to tear them to shreds afterwards. She was no beggar. But she would assure the king of her innocence, whether it mattered or not.

She wrote till the small hours of the morning, watched the sky fade to indigo and purple, saw the stars disappear one by one.

She finished the letter with a question:

" _Your Majesty, do I, of all people, not know the price of treason best?_

 _Ever your faithful servant in everything I do_

 _Catherine Stafford_ "

There was not much she could do now but wait. When the morning came and a servant brought her bread, bacon and eggs to break her fast on, Catherine gave her guard the letter and hoped it would reach the king.

She read all her books in her gentle prison, paced up and down the rooms impatiently, she even took up her needlework. That showed the true dimensions of her desperation. On the evening of the second day, she wrote her will.

" _To my friend Anne Boleyn I leave my psalter and all other books she might find interesting, so that she remembers me when she does what she loves most._

 _To Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, I leave the diamond ring I once won from him in a game, so that he remembers what I forgot: When we gamble, we should always be aware of what is at stake._

 _To my niece Elizabeth and Katherine Neville, I leave all my other worldly possessions. I ask His Majesty, my king, to care of them, for they are his loyal and loving subjects and had no part in the crimes I stand accused of._

 _His Majesty, my lord and sovereign, I beg for mercy and assure him that I have always, both in word and deed, been his loyal subject and servant and gave him no reason to doubt my honest intentions. False accusations have been made but I shall forgive those accusers upon my salvation._

 _I will pray for my lord and king, for mankind has never witnessed a more honourable and just prince than we have in Henry VIII._

 _Catherine Stafford."_

She had written it down now, although she still hoped she would not need it. Catherine left it on the desk by the window in her reception chamber and withdrew to her bedchamber for another sleepless night.

 **~o~**

 **Charles**

"It is Talbot. He wanted her, she refused him, now he wants her to pay. He has his family in his back but Catherine has no one who would protect her." He noticed himself that he sounded too eager and fierce but the sight of her, desperate and helpless in front of his chamber door was something he could not forget.

"So you have decided to do it?" Henry asked with a sad smile.

"Do you really think she is innocent, Charles? Remember her father…"

"She is not like her father. We all have relatives but they do not define us. Or do they?"

Charles knew well that Henry did not like this at all. His relatives were mostly Welsh born, and he had only a drop of that old blood in his veins that all the great lords shared. His own father had been one of many contenders for the throne and it had been a sword and a wife that had secured that chair for him.

"Not our relatives, but our deeds. She spent much time with Talbot and he says that she allowed him to go further than any other man." ' _He claims it is love but it is not, neither for him nor for me.'_

Charles forced himself to calm down. Talbot was a liar and a sore loser. Catherine would have never given him that gift. She would have never allowed him to-

"I trust him not." Charles said. "But I trust her. Your Majesty, she has always proven her loyalty. She did what all other ladies did but Talbot thought he could get more from her. He wanted to spite me by marrying her- and taking her dowry away from me."

Henry looked at him for a long moment.

"Anne says the same. What am I to do?"

Charles had forged out these plans with Anne Boleyn, had joined forces with the Boleyn girl, all for _her_. He could not hate Henry's most beloved anymore, but they would never again be on the same side, that much he knew. Her plan had been clever though, very perfidious.

"Tell Talbot that Lady Catherine is accused of high treason and will soon be executed, though not for the crimes he has accused her of but for others that came to light during the questioning. The only way to save his own head is to tell us the truth, for she has told her chaplain everything and this chaplain reported back to his sovereign."

Henry nodded. "Anne has planned this. I see." As always, the thought of his sweetheart, who had strategically withdrawn the Hever, warmed his heart. "I am ready to believe the girl is innocent. My lords are lions while she is a little bird caught in a storm. But I need the truth. What shall I do with Talbot afterwards?" Anne Boleyn had found an answer for that, too.

"Marry him to Mary Dacre. They could not decide on a dowry before but now... Shrewsbury, Talbot's father, will agree, no doubt he'll be happy to keep his heir and spare himself the disgrace. Then Talbot can rot in Derbyshire for all I care."

It was a kinder fate than he deserved but Charles knew that she would not want him dead despite everything.

"A kind fate. But wise. Shrewsbury will kiss my feet for sparing his son. He wrote me a letter in which he admits that Francis planned all this. Of course, he only admits it because we have intercepted their correspondence." Henry grinned but it looked as if he had a toothache.

"All these noble lords with their great names are vultures, nothing more. I'll spare the girl, for you." Now the old Henry was back, his grin turned into a smug smile.

"She is a pretty thing, and no doubt she will be grateful beyond measure. You saved her life." Charles did not like his king's smug grin at all. She would never love him for saving her life. She was too proud...and he did not want to win her like this. She would take him, no doubt. To pay her debt. But she would despise herself for it, and him as well.

"She may never know. Tell her it was Mistress Anne, I beseech you, Your Majesty."

"Are you certain?"

"She is her closest confidante. And it was her as much as me." That was not true, they both knew. The Boleyn girl had done everything for Catherine but she had no influence in parliament. Charles was the Lord Steward of the Royal Household, though.

"Lady Catherine might never give you-" Henry started but that was not at all what he wanted to hear.

"No. She might not." he agreed quickly. Henry understood.

"As you wish."

Charles pinned the other man against the wall.

"You know _nothing_ about her."

Talbot looked a tad frightened but not enough.

"I always knew you wanted her. She looks sweet, I admit it. And her blood is even nobler than mine. But she is made of ice. You will get frostbite from kissing her. Not that I would know, she never allowed me to come so close. She is colder than winter in Scotland. Do you know what she said to me when I offered her my heart and hand and told her that I sacrificed everything just to marry her? She asked me whether I had taken leave of my wits. I had just laid my heart at her feet and she stamped on it." His tone was laced with self-pity and bitter hatred.

"And you think that gives you the right to denounce her?"

"Oh, please. Spare me your moral ramblings. You have waited for this, haven't you? Looked at her, kept an eye on her...and now, you are her saviour, a knight from the tales. Her personal Tristan, her knight of the Round Table. Low-born and slow of mind, your only virtue is the king's friendship. She will not have-"

Charles' fist found Talbot finely chiseled jaw. And because it felt so good, it found his strong nose, too.

"You are the one who has to fear for his life in a draughty cell in the Tower, Talbot, not me. So you will gracefully accept the terms I offer you and withdraw all accusations against Lady Catherine Stafford."

Blood ran down his chin in a thin trickle and Talbot's gaze could have frozen the river Thames but Charles did not care whether he hated him or not.

"You will marry Mary Dacre and never show that aristocratic face at court again. You will never contact Lady Catherine, neither in person nor by messenger. You will be grateful that the king spared your pathetic life and go to Derbyshire and pray for his health five times a day." Charles did not care for that, either, but mentioning prayers and divine justice simply felt right.

Talbot spat blood.

"I will." For a moment, Charles wanted to insist on his title but then he let it go. This man was nothing but a fly in his broth and he had spooned it out already. Why should he bother with it any longer?

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**

"Cleared of all accusations." The king took her arm like the guards not even a fortnight ago. "Malicious detractors have named you a traitor but your name has been cleared, sweet Catherine. Loyalty always defeats dishonesty, and there shall be no injustice in England as long as I rule."

The king kissed her upon the cheek and Cat looked at the sea of courtiers in front of her, all these smiling faces...they would have sold her for less than a copper penny. Even the noble lords that had claimed to love her so. All power derived from the king...blood or not, it did not matter. Power was power, and wealth was wealth. Old blood, old names, ancestry...it was both hindrance and help and it was surely not as important as it had been in the days of the Plantagenet kings. Catherine had learned it all the hard way...but she had learned it now. The haughty noble lords were as shallow as a winter grave and she could not rely on her blood and name to save her. She was no longer part of that faction.

"Your Majesty is too kind. As long as I have my king's love, I shall never fear."

Anne, who had just returned from Hever clapped her hands in excitement. "And now, the play!"

It was a play about the Greek God Apollo who pursued the nymph Daphne. Daphne refused him kindly at first and then more openly. In the end, Daphne's father transformed her into a laurel tree at her wish to protect her from Apollo's advances.

In the final scene, Apollo, still lovestruck, stood under the tree and vowed to love her forever: "Always my hair will have you, my lyres will have you, my quivers will have you, laurel tree. You will be the symbol of triumph and virtue."

The audience howled when the actor who played Apollo suddenly pulled out a bag full of laurel wreaths and tossed them to the ladies in the first row. Catherine caught one, too, though with much less enthusiasm. This play reminded her too much of Talbot...and of the possible outcome of her great folly.

Anne rose from her chair at the king's side, the Queen's chair, though the Queen never sat in it anymore.

"All ladies shall wear laurel crowns for the dance!" she exclaimed and Henry laughed. Anne took off her hood and shook her long dark hair confidently.

Henry put thewreath from her hands and placed it on her head tenderly. "A crown for my queen." he whispered into Anne's ear, barely loudly enough for Cat o hear, who sat at Anne's side.

Brandon at Henry's other side showed no sign that he had heard his friend. Would he ask her to dance? _Of course he won't, you fool._ In fact, he was evading her, now, that Cat wanted to talk to him, wanted to thank him so desperately. Although everyone had insisted that it was Anne, and only Anne, who had swayed the king, Anne herself had hinted at something else entirely.

" _If not for a certain standard bearer's son, I would sit here now lonely and with tears in my eyes."_ Catherine had never been so ashamed in her life, never been so eager to apologise, but even though she did everything in her power to meet him alone, he was as flighty as water running through her fingers and she had not said more than three words to him since her release. The people were already talking about her strange habit of wandering the first floor gallery on her own but although it was the only passage that led to his chambers, he had never crossed her path there.

A deep, rich voice roused her from her unhappy thought and for a moment, she felt hopeful again.

"My lady? May I take this dance?" she spun around, only to be disappointed. Sir Francis Bryan was no doubt handsome, despite the patch he wore over his eye. But the _Vicar of Hell_ was not whom she had dreamt of lately. It would be rude to refuse him though, especially as Brandon had already asked a different lady to dance, that girl Margery Horsman, shy and sweet, but with a complexion so pale that it looked like dough and watery blue eyes. _Why her?_

"You may, Sir Francis." She said, trying to sound enthusiastic. She had blown her chance with Brandon, she knew that much. But she had to apologise, she had to thank him for what he had risked for her, who had treated him so harshly.

Bryan danced like a pirate, and that was the best that could be said about his dancing qualities. He was too fast, too rash, too wild and his grip on her waist was uncomfortable. Catherine thanked God when the dance was finally over.

"You will excuse me." She fled the stuffiness of the hall. The air outside was already cool, too cool on her hot, sweaty skin, but when she inhaled deeply, it came as a relief.

The terrace was empty, no one else was foolish enough to risk a cold. But, no, wasn't there someone wandering in the Cardinal's Italian garden? The light fog obscured her sight, but it could be him. She had not seen the duke in the hall, had assumed he had left the hall with Margery, but this man was alone.

Cat was fully aware of the danger she would put herself in if this man was not Brandon, but she had to take the risk. She gathered her skirts and ran over to him, the air burned ice cold in her lungs.

It was him.

"Your Grace."

He had not expected her and he was not at all pleased to see her.

"My lady." He nodded. "It is cold, I better return-"

"I apologise thoroughly for the insults you had to suffer at my hand and at the hands of those close to me. And I thank you. I do not understand why you showed me that much kindness but I thank you and assure you that I am forever in your debt. If there is anything I can give you-" She did not finish her sentence, feeling silly. What would he want from her? He managed her finances, he held her income...and what else could she give him?

The duke's face showed a myriad of conflicting emotions but she found it hard to name them. Anger, definitely, sadness, disappointment, regret...but also something softer.

"I wish Mistress Anne had not broken her promise."

"She never did, I-" Cat tried to defend Anne automatically but the duke raised his hand and smiled, a weak, lopsided smile, but a smile.

"I should have known." Then his face was serious again. "You have no reason to thank me. I did it not for your person. I knew what Talbot was planning, I knew what he desired. I should have stopped him earlier. I knew you had no part in the treason he was planning, you are wiser than that."

She had to object here. "Not wise at all. I did not know his treacherous plan but I encouraged him in word and deed and I do not deserve kindness. I was gambling, overestimating myself. This _incident_ was entirely my fault." It felt good to get the words out that she had held back for so long. "And you helped me, although you had no reason to."

Gently, Brandon tucked a loose curl back under her hood.

"You deserve kindness, Catherine. And it was not your fault." Then he paused, perhaps he was lost for words. Slowly, he started speaking again.

"You deny me both honour and manners." He raised his hand when she wanted to object. "The latter is no doubt true. My manners are not refined and elegant, when I dance, I lack the grace and spirit of nobler men, I rarely take part in courtly intrigues and schemes, I do not enjoy reading about theology and politics usually don't interest me. I cannot write poetry, my singing is worse than a cock's crow and God knows, I cannot even play the flute. You are right to call me common, that is what I am. But I am not without honour. I am loyal and I am honest and that is more than you can say for most noblemen at court. You were innocent so I advised the king to spare you, not because of your person but because of my moral beliefs. I will never advise my sovereign to act unjustly. I will never lie to him, regardless of my personal affections or dislikes."

He paused again, this time, Catherine did not know what to reply so she stayed silent.  
"I admit that I do not want you to think bad of me. I admit that Talbot often angered me. I admit -"

Whatever he was about to say, he seemed to lose his courage or train of thoughts and stayed silent.

"I do not think bad of you." Cat said. Gently, she touched his hand. "I did at first, yes. But much has changed since then. I am more humble now, I see things clearer. And you are-" Cat swallowed. "You are an admirable man who is worthy of every respect."

This time, his smile reached his eyes. He offered her his hand. "Peace?"

She took it. His fingers were warm against her ice cold skin. "Peace." She smiled.

"We better go back inside, before you die of a cold and it was all for nothing."

He wrapped his fur-lined cape around her shoulders and Catherine inhaled the musky, mossy smell.

For the first time in months, her heart felt light.

* * *

Thank you for reading! In the next chapter, I will wrap up all the political stuff that's going on and that I have neglected in these last two chapters: Wolsey, Katherine of Aragon, and basically everything that's going on in Rome. We will also see a lot more of Anne, Henry and the court!

 **Dianne060807** : Thank you so much for your support! I'm sorry it took me so long to update, I hope the next chapter will be easier!

 **HPuni101:** Thank you kindly for your constructive review! Yes, I am not such a big fan of the TV show version of Charles, he always seems a bit too simple, a bit shallow, and I just love conflicted characters^^. I am happy you enjoyed it! I'm sorry about the mistakes. Although I have been living in England for quite a while now I wasn't born here, so English isn't my first language.

 **ShinyRedPenny** : I thank you so much for your review, it really motivated me! I love your stories, I love your characters, so I feel rather honoured. ;)  
Anne is my all time favourite historical female character but I find she is often reduced to either the scheming whore or the misunderstood angel. I am happy you like her, there will be far more of her in the next chapters, I had to end the Catherine- Charles- Francis love triangle.

Thank you also for your understanding!


	13. Chapter 13

Welcome back! So this chapter was a bit tedious to write because of all the research. I am also torn: I would really like to give Anne and Henry the happy ending that Anne deserves. But I would also like to explore the reigns of the successive queens through the eyes of Catherine. Please, let me know what you think! Happy ending for Anne or historical accuracy?

-o-

A few remarks: I will summarise the events of 1527-1529 in these next chapters, simply because not that much was happening in England as the Pope and Campeggio did deliberately delay talks and negotiations. So something from 1529 might hapen in 1528. Just so you know :)

-William Tynedale was an English reformer who sympathised with some of Luther's ideas.

-Christmas in Tudor times lasted from the 25th of December until Ephiany on the 6th of January. Gifts were exchanged not on Christmas Day but on the 1st of January.

* * *

Autumn, Hampton Court Palace

Catherine

~o~

The king held court in the splendid house the Cardinal had given him, but no grand entrance hall, no sprawling formal gardens could hide the fact that Wolsey had achieved nothing in the king's great matter. When Catherine had seen him again in London after the summer progress, she was shocked. The Cardinal had suffered and survived an attack of the sweating sickness, but his skin had turned from a healthy pink to grey and he had lost weight, so that his red robes were billowing around is slimmer frame. Sickness and failure had also changed his demeanour and bearing: Once proud, loud, jolly but respectable, he was now walking with sloping shoulders and could not manage a weak smile in the sight of his replacement at the king's side. Anne had recovered from the sickness, her spirit was unbroken, but London offered new challenges for her. In fact, Anne was constantly furious, even more so since Katherine, as Queen Consort, had joined them in the capital after a summer with her daughter. Henry had no choice but treat his wife cordially to quash nasty rumours surrounding his and Anne's relationship. The annulment would come, he was certain, but he was not willing to allow washerwomen's gossip to stain Anne's honour.

Cardinal Campeggio had arrived a week ago, three months late and far less decisive than the king had wished, but Henry was full of boyish confidence, and how should he not be? All his life, he had always got what he wanted.

While the king withdrew to his office chamber with his advisors and Campeggio, the court was deprived of their sun. Anne held court like a queen in her own chambers, as far away from the Queen's as Henry had been able to manage, and Cat was constantly out of breath from running from one end of the palace to the other, caught between Henry's two women like the sun between the horizons. On the few occasions, when Anne did wait on the Queen, the room grew colder than the Scottish highlands and no laughter, no singing broke the silence. It was a relief when the Queen withdrew to pray and asked Cat to go with her, although that meant spending a few very uncomfortable hours on her knees.

When she left the Queen's small private chapel again, her mistress remained behind, asking God to lead her, asking God for help that he had not granted her in the many years of marriage. She had never been blessed with a living son, her greatest sin in the eyes of the king and court.

Anne had already taken her leave and with her most noble ladies.

Margery Horsman, the new Seymour girl, a plain, soft-spoken little doll, and Lucy Talbot, Francis' young sister who had killed Catherine with looks near on a thousand times now, were the only maids of honour left in the Queen's audience chamber. The Seymour girl, Cat could not remember her name, was embroidering an altarcloth, deaf and blind to her surroundings it seemed but Catherine knew this type of girl. They heard everything, saw everything, and told their families who used this knowledge for their advancement. The Seymours were an old family but not yet powerful enough to truly matter. Old Sir John was an ambitious man though and had set his eyes on an advantageous marriage for his young daughter, to William Dormer or perhaps Francis Bryan. Catherine was careful in the girl's presence. Margery Horsman and Lucy Talbot did not know this sort of caution, they were gossiping shamelessly in a corner and Cat knew that both she and Anne were certainly subject of their chat.

Margery had already set her eyes upon the duke after he had danced with her and blamed Catherine for his loss of interest. Indeed, Brandon had not looked at her twice since that night, but instead he looked at Catherine often, and in a way that made her blush and her heart race. She knew that she had no cause to hope that he was still interested, nor could she accept his proposal even if he asked for her hand now. _He won't. And why would he?I have not given him cause to like me, nor have I given him cause to this his advances might fall on fruitful ground. I should have shown him, I should have treated him kindly, I should have never looked at Talbot twice…Alas, it is all irrelevant now._

The bitterness of that realisation was her constant companion these days but she tried to focus on the good things.

Brandon's attentions and kindness were more than she had hoped for and she would try to be content with calling him friend. Margery Horsman was not content at all though and had found a willing partner for her gossiping: Lucy Talbot hated Cat even more for what she had done to the poor Francis who now resided in a stately manor with his pretty wife, squandering his father's wealth. A grim fate indeed.

She heard her name as she walked past the two of them, Lucy had not bothered to lower her voice. _They cannot hurt me, it is their jealousy, they are bitter and angry, nothing more._ But she felt subdued nevertheless until Jane Seymour rose from her chair and spoke with her soft, gentle voice: "You two bring great shame upon the Queen's ladies with your endless prattle. I suggest you do something useful until Her Majesty returns or she might be very cross with you indeed."

 _Well roared, lamb._

Catherine smiled at the girl gratefully and Jane, picking up her needlework again, returned it.

She was clever enough to know that Anne would rise high and that Cat wielded far more influence than Margery Horsman and Lucy Talbot. _A clever girl, and as ambitious as her father under her demure pale gown._

The epitome of ambition sat in a throne-like chair in the beautiful east wing of Hampton Court Palace and tapped her toes impatiently as she waited for the king.

When Cat entered her audience chamber, Anne leapt to her feet as gracefully as a cat.

"The Queen must have sinned terribly that she had to pray so long." Her courtier's smile graced Anne's thin lips. "And I cannot forgive her for keeping my closest friend away from me so long." She lead Cat into an antechamber and her mood was immediately changed. Under her witty courtier's mask, Anne was as impatient and desperate as the king.

"Nothing." She cried. "That old man has achieved nothing. The Pope is still imprisoned by Katherine's nephew and this legate is as slow of mind as he is of foot. They will never grant us the annulment."

Catherine took note of the 'us'.

Anne did have a point in all truth. With the Pope in the Emperor's hands, Henry would not get what he wanted. To make matters worse, it seemed as if the Queen had somehow managed to get her beringed hands on the original document, the dispensation granted by Pope Julius years ago, that clarified that Henry and her marriage was indeed legitimate. Of course it was, no one did truly doubt this. But Henry's happiness was far more important for the English court than the law of Rome or the Emperor's contentment. Once Pope Clement was free, Campeggio would hopefully decide in the king's favour or else...Henry had never been denied anything and he was a child with extremely dangerous toys. Cat just hoped that Campeggio was wise enough to see the potential threat. France was once again about to declare war on the Habsburgs and the conflicts that were boiling on the continent were too numerous to count. There was Luther in Germany, circulating his papers and heretical ideas, protected by powerful princes. The Emperor was everywhere but his realm seemed to to prove too much of a challenge, to vast a territory for him. No, it was a tumultuous state the world was in at the moment and England should stay out of it.

"Campeggio will grant the annulment." Cat tried to calm Anne. Her temper had started to annoy everyone but the king and she needed more than Henry's love for what she was trying to achieve. "Do not worry, before summer, you will be wedded." Hopefully. Cat did not know how long Henry's passion would last… what if it cooled before he had placed a crown upon Anne's head? She would be damaged goods, she would be the woman who was too ambitious for her own good.

Her soothing tone seemed to calm Anne a bit.

"I do hope so. For him." She sat down on an elegant upholstered chair. "Wolsey is still whispering in the king's ear and I do not like it."

No, Cat did not like that either. The Cardinal did all he could for Henry's annulment but he had not even lifted his fat finger for her or her father and that was something she could not forgive. The Cardinal had lost the king's trust though and it would not take long to convince Henry to send the man to his diocese in Yorkshire and get rid of him once and for all. For all Cat cared, he could rot in York or find his faith or father some more bastards, as long as he lost what he held most dear: His power.

"I want you to join the king and me for dinner tonight. It will be an intimate affair while Wolsey hosts a feast for Campeggio but I want it to be entertaining nevertheless. And my brother's terrible wife will have to be invited too. Save me, Cat, if you have a heart."

Jane Parker Boleyn was indeed not a very pleasant lady. Curious and gossipy, jealous and greedy without knowing what she really wanted, Cat was trying to steer clear of her.

"I will be there if you wish." No one refused Anne these days.

"It was not a command." Anne looked shocked. "Do not do this to me. You are my friend, are you not? My sister? You are not like the others, you have always been at my side, and I at yours. I need you, Cat, now more than ever."

"And I will stay right at your side, Nan. It was a jape, nothing more. Who else will be there?" _Him, please. Not him, please._

"Why, so that you know whether it is worth dressing up?" Anne's cheeky smile spoke volumes. _She always knows what I'm thinking._

"The king will be there… my father, and my brother, of course. He is married but handsome enough to be worthy of your red dress, don't you think?"

Years ago, it had been their plan to convince their father to allow George Boleyn to marry Cat or to allow Henry Stafford to marry Anne, so that they would truly be sisters.

"Is this kind of torture what you normally do to your friends, Anne?" Cat had to smile.

"Oh, only to them." Her friend grinned. "Well, who else is there? Francis Bryan, of course, so handsome despite his eyepatch and a true adventurer at heart. Didn't you want to be captured by pirates once?"

"Didn't we swear never to talk about our childish dreams again?"

"And Nicholas Carew will be there, as boring as Bryan is interesting. Henry Norris of course, entertaining and loyal, just how a nobleman should be. And the ladies! My poor widowed sister, of course, my lady mother, my beloved sister in law, our dear Mary Norris and Carew's wife, Elizabeth, of who I am very fond." Anne's teasing smile had never faded. "And, do you deem our company worthy of lavish apparel?"

"I deem _you_ worthy of -" Catherine started but Anne laughed. "Ah, I might have forgotten a certain nobleman...Young enough, rather handsome but of low birth, you will not be interested. Although he does have a title now. Duke of Suffolk. Yes, he will be there too, sitting next to the king. How could I forget?"

"Perhaps it was the wine?" Cat suggested. "Or the exhaustion from making fun of your poor friend. I beseech you, Anne, be quiet tonight or you will humiliate me in front of the whole inner circle. The duke and I-"

"The duke and you?" Anne was still grinning. Nothing lifted her spirit as much as making fun of Cat. She never meant to hurt her but it still stung. Cat did not like talking about Brandon at all.

"The duke is not interested." She admitted unhappily.

"Next you tell me he has lost his heart to horse-faced Margery!" Anne put her hand on Cat's.

"Sometimes I truly think you are still fourteen, Cat."

"Am I the one playing silly games or you?"

"I have little cause for merriment at the moment." Anne admitted. "Henry is sure the annulment will be granted but I feel like he does not think ahead enough. Katherine is too powerful still and the churchmen here will never accept me. There is need for reformation in our English churches." There was. The church was corrupt and far too powerful, no longer was the Pope the successor of St. Peter, now he tried to surpass even Jesus in his glory. The church was too rich, the bishops were too worldly.

"Have you spoken to the king about it?" It was a difficult subject. Years ago, the king had written a whole book to defend the church, it had earned him the title Defender of Faith...but now that he was so dissatisfied with Rome, the tide might have turned.

"I gave him William Tynedale's book. He is reading it now but he is already enthralled. 'This is a book for kings' he said."

That did sound promising.

Soon, Cat left to dress for the dinner. Anne had been right, now that she knew that the duke would be there, she would dress lavishly and elegantly. Her gown was green, as he had once complimented her on the colour that went so well with her eyes. She wore pearls to look demure and left her hood on the dresser. She was still a maiden after all, young and ready for matrimony. He should remember that.

A string of pearls and emeralds adorned her long golden hair and her chambermaid told her that she looked very pretty. Cat gave her a groat for that.

The dinner was entertaining and interesting, Sir Francis Bryan was indeed exciting though he was one of those men that would take a slightly lifted skirt as an invitation. Cat was careful not to smile at him directly. She had had enough scandals lately.

"For Christmas, we will go to Greenwich. I want magnificence and splendour. Campeggio will be impressed by the pomp with which we celebrate Christ's birth." The king was all wrapped up in preparations again.

"There must be a long mass in the morning, and one at midnight."

Henry waved Carew's remark away.

"Masses, yes. But I want a masque and a few plays...perhaps not Greek but English this time. Arthur and his Guinevere." He looked at Anne with fondness, seemingly forgetting about Lancelot.

"A wonderful idea." Lord Rochford, Anne's observant father had surely not missed the tiny detail Henry had forgotten, but he seemed not to care. "A dance afterwards and a tourney if the weather is not too harsh?" he suggested in his subtle, even voice.

"Brilliant." Henry's eyes were glistening with excitement. "And a hunting trip to Windsor. No, better to Richmond. Are you still up for it, Charles?"

Henry grinned at his best friend.

"Always, Your Majesty. Although I would like to see my children at Christmas."

Sometimes, Catherine forgot about the duke's two little daughters.

"Ah, of course. Tell my nieces that their uncle loves them dearly."

Anne turned to Cat. "Do you not want to see your wards, Catherine?"

She did, yes. But she would have rather told the king herself, in a quiet minute.

"If His Majesty gives his consent." She smiled at the king.

"If my beloved lady can do without you for a while?" Anne was almost allmighty these days, even the king asked for her consent-

Anne smiled. "I cannot, and yet, it would be unjust to deprive these children of their aunt for so long. But Lady Catherine should not go alone. Can you spare one of your noble friends, my king, to accompany her? George, you would love Suffolk in winter no doubt."It was a trick of course, and Cat saw through it. But hoepfully no one else.

George Boleyn seemed eager enough, most probably because it meant he would get away from his wife but someone else interrupted him.

"The children can be brought to Westthorpe, if you wish, my lady." Suffolk's tone was nonchalant but Cat knew what this meant. She would spend Christmas with him and his children. And the wards that were now her children. In the house that he had once lived in with his wife.

"That is too generous, Your Grace, but not necessary. I need no travel companion and I am happy to go to Sudbury, you have done enough already."

He refusal stemmed from insecurity and shame and he seemed to notice that.

"Oh, I insist, my lady."

That seemed to settle it.

"You must be back for the festivities on the New Year's Day. And I will be very cross with you, Charles, if I do not like your gift."

"I have put much thought into it, Your Majesty, so I will be very cross if you get cross with me."

Henry laughed heartily. "Touché."

Catherine was more than excited. Once again, she would be all alone with Brandon. This time, she swore, she would be pleasant and kind. But it was still weeks till their departure and Anne withdrew to Hever soon, to care for her ageing grandmother, she claimed, but it was pure strategy. Whenever Henry became too heated, too adamant that she should share his bed, Anne withdrew- and Henry had to beg for her return. She was a kind mistress though and after a few weeks, she would return to court and Henry was cautious not to push her again...for a while. It was fear that motivated Anne in that respect, for Henry's affections were known to be loved him truly, Cat knew, although no word of that love reached her family's ears. But Anne was no milkmaid who was in love for the first time. There had been Henry Percy, and that unlucky affair had taught her a few things. That affair had also left a bitter aftertaste and a hearty dislike for the Cardinal whose ruin was so near.

~o~

Without Anne, courtly life was dull. Henry hid in his chambers for days and when he came out, the dinners and feasts could not lift his spirits. Sometimes, he went hunting with the gentlemen of the privy chamber and sent Anne game and birds with herbs and pastries. He sent her jewels too and love letters that were so passionate that Anne did not even allow Cat to read them.

It was another dull November afternoon in the Queen's chambers. With Anne gone, all ladies were waiting upon Katherine again but the air was full of guilt.

"I want to take a walk in the gardens." Katherine announced.

She could not be serious. The Queen never went for walks, hence her stout figure. The weather was wet and cold and most ladies shivered in their fine brocade gowns as they looked out of the window. The park looked sad and grey without the winter snow that would hopefully come.

"Lady Catherine, Lady Carey, Mistress Boleyn. Walk with me."

 _Anne's family and confidantes._ Cat could hear the other ladies sigh with relief.

What did the Queen want from them? Tell them to tame Anne? To convince her to let the king go?

She wrapped herself in a wool cloak, fine but not elegant and warm enough for the harsh weather.

They walked silently between high hedges and empty flowerbeds.

"Mistress Boleyn, I am shivering. Fetch me my fur cloak."

 _Ah. That's the way the wind blows._

They walked a bit further.

"Lady Carey, be so kind and find my dog. He will need some fresh air as well."

And just like that, Cat was suddenly alone with the Queen.

"What have I done to you, Lady Catherine?" The Queen looked at her with a solemn face and sad eyes. "Have I not treated you kindly? Have I not talked to the king on your behalf? All my ladies betray me, but your betrayal hurts the most. You are my Judas, Catherine, but where are your thirty pieces of silver?"

Cat swallowed.

"I have never betrayed you. Nor will I ever."

The Queen smiled at her sadly.

"If not in deed then in word and thought. Your friend wants to sit on my chair, wants to wear my jewels and wants to sleep in my bed and you will give her everything she wants. What if she decides that she would like me better in a tomb?"

What the Queen insinuated was-

"Your Majesty, I would never -"

Katherine raised her hand to stop her outburst.

"Enough. You know where your loyalties lie. As do I."

"My loyalties lie with the king." These words were hard and harsh but necessary nevertheless. Did the Queen not see that she had lost, no matter what the legate said, no matter what ambassador Chapuys wanted? The Emperor had less power in England than King Henry and soon enough, his Queen would see that, too.

"As do mine." Her will was iron, her back unbent, but how would that serve her?

"The king does not think so, Your Majesty."

"As his wife, it is my duty to keep his conscience clean and him on the path God has chosen for him. What His Majesty suggests is against God's will."

God's will did not matter as much as the king's but Cat did not say that.

"Then I hope that God will show the king soon, Your Majesty. May He keep you."

There was nothing else to say. A part of Cat admired the Queen's stubbornness and strength, the other part knew that an oak tree would not survive the storm, only the willow was flexible enough to bend but not to break.

 _She will not bow, she will not bend, so she will break._

Soon enough, Jane Parker returned with the Queen's cloak and Mary with the lapdog but the Queen wanted to return to her stuffy chambers. "It is too cold for me but you seem to enjoy this weather, Lady Catherine. If you would like to stay here for a while, you are excused."

Cat had little choice but to stay outside now. The wind was cold but her cloak warm enough, so she did not mind. Being chased outside like an unruly dog was not something she enjoyed though. _She feels betrayed and is angry at everyone. It hurts her more than she allows anyone to see._

The gardens were deserted and she started to enjoy the walk. Free for the first time in weeks.

The trees had changed colour, just like the courtiers and leaves were blowing in the wind. This autumn was Anne's and the winter would be hers too...but spring? New green would come, replace the old. Anne would not be able to keep the king's appetite forever. What would happen then?

"Enjoying your walk?"

Cat's heart jumped at the sound of his voice and she scolded herself for her silliness.

Charles

~o~

She was all alone in the gardens, lost in thoughts and he could not resist the desire to speak to her alone again. At court, he was so rarely alone with her. _Fool, fool, fool._ Even if he asked her to marry him now, even if he confessed his feelings for her...she would only accept because she felt she was indebted to him.

"Enjoying your walk?" he asked and cursed himself for the stupid question and for disturbing her. Surely there was a reason why she was outside all alone and certainly he was the last person she wanted to see.

He could not stop thinking about her, not about the words she had said that night, her sweet smiles that were now directed at him. He had won her respect, it seemed but he wanted more. Yet, she was too proud to give that to the man who had saved her life. _By saving her, I have doomed myself._

"I enjoy the calm." She smiled. Was that a hint?

"Then I will not disturb you-" he started but she shook her head vigorously.

"Forgive me, that was not what I meant. If you want to walk with me?"

 _I would walk to the shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham barefoot with you at my side._

He took her arm, felt her cold fingers on the sleeve of his quilted doublet.

"How is the king?"

 _Still mad in love with your little friend and ready and willing to make the whole continent his enemy to have her._

"Anxious."

"So is Anne." He thought he could hear a trace of disapproval. "She will be calmer once Campeggio has made his decision."

"That depends on his decision." Charles half-hoped the papal legate would deny Henry his young mistress but felt guilty for it at the same time. It was not only his duty to support his sovereign, it was also his pleasure to support his friend.

Catherine only shrugged. "The king will find a way."

Henry would never relent, that was true. He was not used to not getting what he wanted.

""How is the Queen?"

Catherine still served her mistress although she was called to wait on her friend more often these days.

"Unbent, not yet broken." There was a pause. "She called me her Judas...And she is not wrong. It was her favour and kindness that brought me to court...and now that she has lost her power, I desert her."

It was Henry's desire that brought you here, Charles wanted to say but he did not want to remind her of those days.

"You support your king. That is your duty." He said instead and wiped away the topic with a wide gesture.

"Are you looking forward to spending Christmas with your wards?" He did not want to talk about a topic that they did not agree upon.

She took the hint. "Very much. It is the first time in months that I see them. I am sure they have all outgrown their clothes." She laughed.

It had been a silly, a sentimental notion of his to celebrate Christmas with her and his children but he did not regret it.

"They are always growing up too fast." _God, I sound like an old man._

"Certainly." She smiled. "I am very much looking forward to Christmas."

* * *

I thank you all for your kind reviews! They really motivate me and inspire me! Thank you.


	14. Chapter 14

Oh, I thank you so much for all the reviews! They really brightened my day! I was so motivated, I wrote a whole novel, I fear.

Near on 8,000 words. It won't be that much next time, I promise. I thought about splitting this up but it works better in one piece I think.

ChildofDreams: Carew (Nicholas Carew) was one of Henry's closest companions (one of the rakes from his youth) and a relative of Anne Boleyn. He was however secretly sympathising with Katherine and Princess Mary, although he only acted on this later when he did not agree with Anne's general behaviour and her treatment of Henry Guildford and the Duke of Suffolk. He played a crucial part in her downfall so I wanted to introduce him early on. He is not in the show and he won't make many appearances for now. Sorry, this is not a show-only fic, but I will try to briefly introduce non-show characters from now on.

Anyway, replies to the other reviews at the bottom, hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **December, Greenwich Palace / Westhorpe Hall**

 **Catherine**

 **~o~**

"Come back soon!" Anne kissed her on both cheeks. "Christmas will be terrible without you."

It would be far from that. The Queen would preside over the official festivities at Greenwich but Anne would celebrate Christmas at her own London house surrounded by her own court.

"No doubt you will suffer terribly." Cat smiled. "All the feasts and dances and gifts."

"I knew you would understand." Anne grinned. "Henry has promised-"

"Lady Catherine, His Grace asks whether you are ready for departure." A servant lowered his head respectfully.

"Well, you will see when you come back." Anne handed her a little parcel. "For your nieces."

Cat felt a wave of affection for her friend. "That was not-" she started but Anne shushed her away.

The duke was already waiting with the horses.

"Are you ready?" He was smiling. Perhaps, he was just as excited to be alone with her as she was. _Or perhaps he is just looking forward to seeing his daughters, fool._

He helped her onto her horse himself and for a brief moment, his hands were wrapped around her waist and hers around her neck.

"Thank you." She hoped he did not notice how breathless her voice sounded.

The morning was crisp and cold but not windy and Cat wore a fine cloak of sable fur and warm gloves.

It was not a long ride to Suffolk and the duke knew much about the countryside, the villages and stately homes. Her father had never been interested in those things. Hunting and fighting, that he had been good at. Never politics.

We will arrive after nightfall unless you want to stay the night? There is an abbey nearby."

Cat shook her head. "A kind offer, but I am not tired."

"As you wish. In summer, the ride takes not even half a day. But now, there is ice on the bridges and paths."

It was december after all, Cat had expected as much. The sky was so pale that she thought it might snow soon, too.

It did.

She had never been to Westhorpe Hall before and when she saw the building, vast and imposing but tasteful, she could not help but be impressed. It was already dark but the sky was clear and the stars bright, and golden light shone through the many windows. Lanterns shed their yellow light on the frozen path and bridge and Cat was careful to slow her mare down. An accident would be most inconvenient.

In the courtyard, the duke helped her off her horse. He did not downplay the charm of his house as most lords would, neither did he call his home modest or plain. He called it home though.

"I am glad to welcome you into my house and hope you will find it comfortable and homely."

She would. Westhorpe was the kind of house that made you feel at home immediately. No dusty portraits of ancestors lined the walls of the entrance hall. Instead, hangings and tapestries in warm colours gave the room a welcoming look.

"Your Grace." A housekeeper curtsied low. "Welcome back, if I may say so. The children are already in bed but if you wish-"

"I will see them in the morning. Betha, I trust you have prepared chambers for Lady Catherine Stafford?"

The plump woman curtsied again, this time to Catherine.

"I have, Your Grace, with sight over the gardens and ponds, as you said, Your Grace."

Was that a blush grazing his cheeks?

"Good. And the young Neville wards have arrived?"

"Sleeping soundly in the east wing, Your Grace, with the young ladies."

"Good. Thank you, your service will not be needed anymore tonight."

The woman hurried back into the dim hallway, though not without throwing a last curious glance at Catherine first.

"You must be tired. I will show you your chambers."

Actually, Cat was not tired at all. She would love to roam through the many rooms of this splendid home. She found no trace of Queen Mary's extravagant taste in the staircase or the halls they passed, instead the rooms were furnished elegantly but with focus on practicality and comfort, rather than on impressiveness.

"The house was redecorated after the Queen's death." The remark had escaped her lips without thinking.

The duke's expression showed a hint of indignance.

"Forgive me, it was thoughtless-" she started, but he interrupted her.

"I had it redecorated last year. For the children. Mary had an exquisite taste, but it was more befit a palace than a country home, in all truth."

He stopped in front of a door and opened it for her.

"I hope you find it comfortable enough."

The candles were lit and it was warm and dry inside. A fire was crackling in the hearth. It was a suite of three rooms: the parlour they were now standing in, a bedchamber next door and a dressing room, Cat supposed. This was not a guest suite. Family members resided here.

"I am sure I will." She smiled. "Thank you, it is very kind of you to host me."

He replied nothing and Cat became suddenly aware of how close he was standing in front of her. She could not make out the colour of his eyes in the dim room but she definitely noticed the expression in them. Soft, warm, intense.

He brought his hand up to twirl back a few loose strands that had escaped her hairnet and riding hat. His warm fingers brushed against her cheek, still cold from the ride.

"Good night, my lady." He said, so softly that she had to lean over to him to understand.

Then he turned around, almost hastily, and left the room like a Lutheran fleeing from Rome.

"My lady?" The servants brought her things and her maidservant hurried after them.

"Shall I braid your hair for the night, my lady?"

Yes, she definitely needed some rest.

 **~o~**

She woke early in the morning though, as always in an unfamiliar environment. The sky outside was still dark but the intricate clock on the pine dresser showed half five. She still had an hour until the whole house would rise.

Cat tried to read by candlelight but found that her eyes tired soon. Sighing, she got up, stepped into her shoes, rummaged for her robe, finally found it and left her quarters, candleholder in hand. Few things were more interesting than exploring a house when everyone was still asleep.  
Servants bustled on the ground floor so she stayed on the upper floors, opening door after door with great caution. She had been right, her own chambers lay in the family wing. Cat opened a door to a little girl's bedchamber and after that stayed clear of the doors in that part of the house. The embarrassment would be hard to bear should she by accident open the door to the duke's bedchamber although his door was surely locked.

The corridor she entered seemed airy, only a few candles shed their light on it. There was a small but well stocked private library here that was surely the duke's study, a more spacious room that seemed to hold the duke's art collection. The pictures were well-painted but did not bear the signatures of great painters. A small frame contained a biblical scene, the annunciation to the blessed virgin Mary, apart from that, there were only landscapes, mostly forests with wild animals and fields full of summer flowers under a blue sky. The estate Westhorpe had been painted in all four seasons: Winter, spring, summer and autumn hung next to each other in matching frames. Cat was now quite content with her choice of Christmas gift.

She roamed the room, lingering here and there to take a closer look, always careful to keep her candle away from oil colour and parchment. There was only one portrait and Catherine recognised it immediately, although she had only seen the woman a few times as a girl: Princess Mary Tduor, Queen of France, Duchess of Suffolk.

She was beautiful, truly beautiful, forever young and radiant in this portrait hanging in a place of honour above all others. She looked down on her with cool grey eyes, unsmiling. Cat had always found that the princess wore frowns and cool expressions better than a smile. In fact, she had never seen her laugh. Sometimes, she had smiled,graciously, elegantly, arroagntly. But rarely laughed. _She is m_ _ore beautiful than I can ever hope to be._

Catherine tried to ignore the stab of jealousy in her chest and left the room hastily.

Her chest was still tight although she pretended not to know why when she entered the last room. These were rooms for private entertainment, the duke and his family spent much time here in their bedrobes and night attire, reading only one more pager, taking one last look at a painting- and apparently, listening to one last song. This was the music room and it was as different in style from the lother two as the sun from the moon. Or rather the other way round. Where the rest of the house had been more comfortable than elegant, this room had no wall hangings. White tapestries embroidered in gold and silver gave the room a cool but extravagant flair, there were pale rugs on the wooden floor and the furniture was dainty and elegantly curved. There was a clavichord in one corner, a harp, too, a lute, a few flutes and a shelf for song- and music books. The duke could not sing, neither could he read music very well. This was Queen Mary's music parlour, no doubt. Catherine had rarely felt more like an intruder.

The door behind her was opened. "Good morning. Have you not slept well, my lady?"

 _Now of all times._ Brandon was fully dressed and there was no trace of sleep in his handsome face. She on the other hand surely looked terrible: Her hair was a mess and she was most indecently dressed. But it could not be helped, she had been so foolish and now she paid for it.

"Good morning, Your Grace. Forgive me, I shouldn't-"

"No, it is fine. This was Mary's room. She spent days in here, all alone." There was an underlying melancholy in his voice.

"She was as talented as the king, I suppose?"

"Definitely determined to be better than him." Suffolk smiled. _He loved her, truly loved her._ Cat had always thought that it had been ambition on his part, ambition and desire. Knowing that she had been wrong in this stung.

"You are not one for music?" He asked.

"I play the harp and the clavichord and I had singing lessons...but I prefer other activities." She had learnt to read music and play it but it had never been a passion.

"As do I." He grinned. "Hunting and hitting balls with rackets." Cat blushed. She had said that to him once.

"And all I care for is flirting with noblemen for my own advantage." She replied, smiling too.

"Did I really say that?" To her surprise, he looked a little ashamed.

"Perhaps I do not recall correctly." she allowed but he shook his head.

"No, I fear I really said that. Forgive me. I would compose a song for you to make up for it but I fear my attempts would chase you away."

She only smiled at that. "Do your daughters learn music?"

"Yes." He swayed his head. "Everything a king's niece has to learn. But they are not very eager. They can read music by now, at least I think they can. I wouldn't notice if they didn't. Frances, the eldest, she plays the flute, and well I heard. Mary has no interest in playing music, she hides in the gardens whenever the music teacher tries to teach her. The man is a saint, in all truth."

The way he talked about his daughters was sweet. At court, there was always very little room for families and even less for children. Here in the countryside it was different though.

"I am sure they both do well."

She was eager to leave this room, leave this room that was a reminder that the man she did like far too much had had a beloved wife, a princess and a Queen, that Cat could never hope to eclipse.

"Why are you up so early?" Suffolk asked as they walked back to the staircase.

"I am an early riser. I never took you for one, in all truth." He was the kind of man that woke late in the morning to servants bustling around in the chamber.

"I am none. I -" He paused.

"I hope I haven't woken you?" Perhaps she had accidentally opened the door to his chamber.

"Ah, no, you haven't. At all. I slept badly, it must have been the moon."

There was always a different reason for sleeplessness but it was so much more elegant and private to blame it on the poor moon.

He left her on the stairs and Cat went back to her chamber where she almost slammed her head against a bedpost. _What. a. terrible. fool. I. am._ She looked terrible, too. Her hair looked as if a bird had nested in it and her face was flushed. She tugged at the neckline of her nightgown but now it was too late anyway.

"My lady?" The matronly housekeeper entered. "Are you satisfied with your lodgings?"

Cat had not even heard her knock.

"Yes, I am, thank you."

"Your little maids are still fast asleep, and what a night they had! So I thought I'd come to assist you, if it please you."

That was very considerate of her but Cat suspected that Brandon had sent her up. And this woman was fond of gossip, no doubt. She would fill the room with pleasant chatter and perhaps Cat could find out a little more about the duke and his family.

"That would be very kind of you, Mistress-"

"Betha is enough, young lady. Come now, sit down a bit, I'll brush your hair in a moment, I'll just quickly fill the tub."

Betha praised the softness and colour of her hair but Cat was sure, even if her hair was green, she would have said the same.

"How long have you been housekeeper here?" That question was all the woman needed.

"Oh, for decades, sweet lady. Well, I was His Grace's housekeeper in a different home first, when he was still a gentleman. But I moved here when His Grace was made a duke by our fine king, oh indeed, I was the first to set foot in this house! I was here too when he married that fine princess and now I am still here to serve his children, and him, whenever the king can spare him."

"When did His Grace marry the Queen of France again?" Cat asked, although of course she knew.

"Ah, that must have been- Yes, quite truly, that was twelve years ago. You were still half a child then. And His Grace, ah, I may not say it but you will not give me away, will you?"

Of course she would not but Betha did not even leave her time to reply.

"He was a very young man back then, wild as a young bull and just as fierce. Like the king, the two are like brothers, everyone says it, and so alike in many things. He had his head full of sports and wars and ladies, our young lord, His Grace, I mean. And he married the princess, the Queen, I mean, but it was her who persuaded him. The king never wanted their marriage, but young Princess Mary commanded it and His Grace was never one to resist. She was a beauty, the princess-"

 _Oh, I have seen her._

"Though you are just as pretty, my lady, no doubt. Ah, yes, that was a story after my fancy, I tell you, my lady. Everyone knew the king would forgive his friend, his favourite sister of course. She was mad in love with His Grace, I tell you. They came here, to Westhorpe and she made a right palace out of it. "Westhorpe Palace" some japed- never me of course. The princess, aye, she was never quite satisfied with being a Duchess. Later, she often complained. A Queen, she was, a Queen she should have stayed… She loved her husband though, until her death. The Lord took her early, the poor thing. She was not yet thirty but, alas, God moves in mysterious ways. His Grace was devastated, of course. Although, if you ask me, he was never quite as much in love as she was. Spent much time at court with the king and his wife here alone, angry at him and oh-so proud. She had the whole house redecorated like a Greek temple. But I ask you, are we in England here or in Rome? His Grace set it right a few years ago. Is it not very English in style?"

"You think His Grace did not love his wife?" Cat was both horrified and oddly pleased, to her own horror.

"Ah, he did, he did. At first. married her there and then, not thinking twice, not thinking at all, young and carefree as he was. But later, only the two of them, and far away from court...She had her music and hated outdoors, he loved to hunt and to ride and hated music. They had very little in common in all truth and it had been a whirlwind romance, a quick marriage. She was a princess by birth, a queen then, and he was a knight's son, a newly-made duke. She was too high above him and liked to remind everyone of that. 'Your Majesty', we had to address her, but he was only 'Your Grace'. He needs a lady that is his equal. Don't we all? But he grieved for her, terribly oh yes."

 _They were estranged, she here, he at court. And there were other women for him. One of them my own sister._ Suddenly, Cat felt sick.

"He never brought a lady home, until now that is-"

"I am his ward." That was the only reason why she was here.

"Of course you are, my lady, of course. And you have your wards here, too. Sweet little children,all of them. Solemn sometimes, but orphans often are- hush, the bath is ready."

Betha was a jolly servant and she distracted Cat with her chatter so that she could forget about Brandon and his Marys for a while.

"Ah, a beautiful dress. For Christmas, I assume? Yes, red's the colour for you. And this one, such a pretty pale blue, radiant, my lady, truly."

She helped her into the dress, laced the bodice tightly and fastened the elegant necklace around her neck. The aquamarine rested just above her breasts.

Cat hid her hair under a hood. She had looked like a milkmaid this morning but now, she wanted to look like a lady.

A servant entered: "My lady? Your wards have asked for you. They are downstairs in the morning room."

Cat had not seen her sister's children since September, when she had visited them at Sudbury Place. The eldest, George, Baron of Bergavenny at seven, stood tall and straight when she entered but Bessie, the elder girl stormed over to her for an embrace.

"Lady Aunt. We have missed you dearly."

The youngest, Kitty, named for Cat and the Queen, was still a babe, and in her cradle where her wetnurse would take care of her.

"You have grown much, Bess. How are the teachers? How are the lessons?"

Bess looked to George. Then back.

"We do our best, I promise. George is not good at Algebra at all and my teacher said I am not very gifted in music. But we try and work more now-"

"Why, I was never very good at geography. Till this day, I do not know where Augsburg is. It does not matter, Bess. Do your best, that is enough. How is the house? Are you feeling at home?"

"It is very beautiful and I have three chambers and twelve dolls! I have names for them all. One is called Philippa and one Mary, for our lady mother. One Isabella, for the Queen, and one Alice-"

Cat made a mental note to remind the governess not to give Bess more dolls. Twelve were surely enough.

"Madam. I mean, Aunt Catherine. I- I still have not learnt how to ride a horse. Properly I mean. Perhaps, I mean, could I-" George's face had reddened.

"Of course. I will ask the Master of Horse later. A proper Baron should know how to ride, I agree."

"My lady." Brandon had appeared behind her. Cat was still kneeling in front of Bess and quickly rose to her feet, smoothing down her skirts.

"Your Grace. My wards, George and Bess Neville."

Brandon greeted them kindly.

"My daughters, Frances and Mary. I think the children already know each other."

Apparently they did for they left the breakfast table soon after to play in the snow.

"They seem to like each other." Brandon and Cat stood in front of a window together, watching the children play.

"Indeed."

George was just helping Brandon's younger daughter Mary up after the girl had stumbled in the deep snow.

"I have half a mind to join them." Cat laughed.

"Why don't we? It has been years since my last snowball fight."

"Snowball fight?" Cat had never heard about that.

"Throw snowballs at each other? Have you never done it with your siblings? I had two elder sisters and in winter, I coughed snow all the time."

No, Cat had never played outdoors with her siblings. Mary had been much older already and considered everything that involved running a 'boyish game' and Elizabeth had only wrinkled her nose at Cat whenever she had asked her.

"I am certain I will learn the game quickly."

And she did. It took her a while though, and the merciless children had bombarded them both with snowballs in the meantime. Although Brandon had selflessly offered himself as a shield, her winter cloak was wet and half frozen by the time she finally hit the first time.

They returned to the house before dark after Brandon had pointed out that they all had blue lips and pink cheeks.

"I wish I had learnt of snowball fights as a child! My winters would have been infinitely more fun."

"Did your siblings never play with you?" The duke seemed surprised.

"Henry and Elizabeth were adults by the time I was able to walk properly and Mary… well, she was older than me too and not interested in something like snowball fights."

"No." Brandon replied. "I didn't think so."

And suddenly, it was all back. Her sister's disgrace and banishment, Brandon's arrogance, her sister's poor health that was only rendered worse by the time in cold, wet Yorkshire.

"Forgive me-" Brandon started but they had reached the house. The feeling of guilt that had overcome Cat was hardly bearable. This was the man Edward Stafford had loathed, this was the man that had brought Edward Stafford to an early grave and her sister to shame. The man who had ignored his wife until she had died, alone and afraid and angry, far away from everyone. _And yet, I cannot dislike him, and yet, I think he is a good man, an upright man, honest at least, despite all his flaws._

"Have you lain with my sister?" she lowered her voice but the children around them were so loud that no one but him would have heard her anyway.

"I-" He started, opened his mouth again to say something, then closed it. He seemed to weigh his options, then opened his mouth again-"

"Lord father! Look, Frances has a lake at her feet!"

He held Cat's gaze a moment longer, then lowered it and turned to his daughter.

 _That is reply enough_.

She felt devastated. He was too much a coward to admit the truth straight to her face.

 **~o~**

Night had already fallen but she still sat in the great library, a beautiful room on the ground floor, and wrote a long letter to Anne. It would surely take her friend the greater part of a week to read it.

"May I?" Brandon stood in the doorway almost shily, like a little boy.

"It is your library after all." Cat could not help but smile.

"Catherine- Whatever happened with your sister… you must know that I sorely regret it."

So it had happened. He admitted it. _And in Leviticus, it says..._

"I wish I had been wiser then, I wish I had refused, especially now - A thousand times have I cursed myself, the ki-"

"Why the king? What did he have to do with it?" That was odd. Brandon paused a little too long before he finally replied:

"He was present. He was…The court was worse in those days, Her Majesty had withdrawn, she was in childbed and we were all-"

"I can imagine." She tried not to sound judgemental. "I thank you for your honesty."

He still looked forlorn, desperate.

"I did not know back then- or I wouldn't have-"

"No one did. Not even I would have thought that Father could be so cruel."

Now he looked confused.

"Excuse me?"

"Mary's health was fragile, he knew. He still sent her away to Yorkshire. Was that not what you meant? That he sent her away because of that... affair?"

What else could he have meant?

"No. Yes. That was exactly what I meant. Good night, my lady."

And with those words, he left the library.

 **~o~**

The next morning, a letter from Anne arrived that took Cat's mind off things for a while.

It was written in French and full of Anne's discontentment, praise for the king, who was surely reading her letters, and court gossip.

" _Dearest Cat,_

 _Court life is lusterless and dull without you. I spend much time with Lady Margaret Lee now, Wyatt's sister, and she never tires of talking about her brother. Come back soon or I might be guilty of manslaughter. Wyatt is now lovesick in Italy, though he does not know for whom. I wish I had a man's fickleness, just for one day. It must be quite refreshing to feel so many passions for so many people in so short a time. You must remind me to write a poem about Weathervane, the knight of constancy._

 _His Majesty on the other hand is as constant as the sun, a more constant lover has no woman ever had. His gifts are generous and his mood so jolly that I cannot help but smile in his presence._

 _My sister is at court now, too, and although I have secured her a good pension of 100 pounds, she is still unhappy. Widowhood does not become her I fear, or perhaps it is celibacy. My aunt, your sister, is now a creature of the Queen and His Majesty saw it fit that she spends Christmas far away from court. I cannot say I miss her much._

 _Sir Francis Bryan is a true pirate, and I am certain you would find great delight in him had you not already given your affections to another. There is a new singer at court, Mark Smeaton, with a voice like an angel and he is the only light in my dark days without you when His Majesty is away with his gentlemen._

 _Campeggio has still not made a decision and if he does not hurry, I fear he might die before he can do what he was bought for. He does not find the English weather agreeable, he said, well, who does? Shall we all move to Italy now, I wonder? There is room enough now that the Emperor has cleared the streets._

 _His Majesty is often away, too often, and I am deprived of both my sun and my moon. I have reason to look forward to Christmas Eve though, for His Majesty and I will enjoy a splendid private feast with our closest friends while Wolsey will host Campeggio at Hampton Court and Katherine will spend a quiet night of prayer in her rooms._

 _She will precede over the official festivities though and I will spend long days in my new London home, Durham House, with only Mary and a few insipid maids as companions. No doubt they will bore me spitless._

 _I hope you enjoy your quiet festivities with the Duke...but do not enjoy them too much, I need you here! Tell His Grace that I wish him a merry Christmas, for your sake, not for his._

 _Je te prie de ne jamais douter les tendre sentiments de ta fidéle amie_

 _Anne de Boullans"_

The tone of Anne's letter spoke volumes. She was bored and distempered, with no one to challenge her wits and keep her occupied. The king was less jolly in winter, too, that was well-known, but feasts and indoor tennis kept him in good humour.

Cat was slightly annoyed that Anne had hinted at possible feelings she might have for Brandon. The king's men read these letters, she was certain, and what if one of them understood the hint?

"News from court?" His Grace had entered the morning room quietly.

"Mistress Anne wishes you a merry Christmas, Your Grace, and is looking forward to our return to court."

He raised an eyebrow. "I am certain Mistress Boleyn worded it differently. But thank her for her kind words."

"Has His Majesty sent word?"

"A few lines. It is not going well with the Cardinal and Campeggio. The Queen is still refusing to agree to his terms. Mistress Boleyn is his constant companion in everything he does outside of the privy chamber." His tone was somewhere between humourous and bitter, and once again, Cat wondered whether Brandon was truly supporting his old friend in his great matter. Suffolk was conservative in many ways and truly admired the Queen.

But he would never tell her the truth.

"Excuse me, if you will, Your Grace. I have promised the children to play."

He smiled.

"I know, Mary told me thrice already. I will not keep you."

For Christmas, the girls dressed up their dolls in their finest attire. Cat sewed a cape of satin crepe for Bessie's doll Alice and a long coat of velvet for Mary's favourite doll Princess.

"Princess will go to bed now, she is tired and excited for tomorrow. Say 'Good night'." The doll waved and was then stuffed into her bed rather unceremoniously.

"Will you tell us a story?" The girl asked. "No one ever tells us stories. Betha tries sometimes, but hers are always _boring_ , never stories about knights and ladies."

 _Because those rarely end well in real life, sweetheart._

"I do not know many stories about knights and ladies." As a child, she had preferred stories about witches in dark forests and pirates and adventurers that discovered new worlds.

"But I know one. The story of Beauty and the Bear. Do you know it?"

Mary shook her head. "Is she a lady?"

"As fair a lady as you can imagine. And brave and daring as well."

"Oh, I love stories about brave ladies! I'll tell Frances, shall I? We can all sit in the parlour in front of the fireplace and you tell your story."

She jumped to her feet and darted out of the room.

 **Charles**

 **~o~**

Mary was jumping down the stairs and bounced into him in the hall.

"Father! Catherine -"

" _Lady_ Catherine, Mary." he scolded his younger daughter gently.

"Yes, father. Lady Catherine will tell us the story of the beauty and the bear!"

That sounded ..different.

"Then I will not stop you."

Catherine appeared behind his daughter.

"There you are. We are waiting for you, young lady." She was smiling.

As Mary ran into the parlour to join her sister and Bessie, Brandon turned to Catherine.

"The beauty and the bear?" he asked.

"The bear will later turn into a prince. But do not tell!"

He had rarely seen her so relaxed and happy. Her skin was glowing, her eyes were shining.

She sat down in an armchair by the fire, young Mary on her lap. She had never known her mother, Charles thought with a touch of melancholy. His Mary had died not a year after giving birth. Frances was ten already, too old for dolls but apparently not too old for stories. She sat on her chair like a proper little lady. Her hair had the same amber hue as her mother's but her eyes were not grey but blue. _Not long and she will go to court._ He was not ready for it but no father ever was, he supposed.

Catherine's ward stood in the room forlornly and he offered her to sit down next to him. She was a shy girl, had nothing of his daughters' wildness.

He helped her onto the upholstered bench and shily, lightly, she leant against his arm.

"There was a fair maiden once, her name was Beauty and she was the daughter of a great lord who wanted to marry a prince from a far away kingdom so that she could travel across the world.

'He must have monkeys,' she told her mother one morning, 'and a fine black lioness.'

Her mother was confused. 'A lioness, love? What would you do with a lioness?'

'Why, she would be my friend. I would ride her across the desert. Do you not know deserts, mother? They are far away, in the South, in -' She had forgotten the name of the kingdom, but it did not matter.

As the maiden grew up and became a lady, she forgot about the beasts. Beasts were for children, ladies wanted embroidery and dances and handsome princes.

Beauty was to marry a prince, that much was determined by her parents, and although they did not know which prince, they were certain that he would own neither a monkey nor a black lioness.

Men came to ask for her hand every day and she sat in her bright little reception room with her mother at her side and received them gracefully.

'I offer you a monkey-' The bear roared, 'And a black lioness. We will travel for three weeks and you will see everything the world has to offer.'

But the girl refused him. 'You are a bear!' she said. 'Only a bear. I am to marry a prince for I am beautiful!'

And her mother nodded at her side, too scared to say anything.

The bear became angry. 'Only a bear! Why, and you are only a girl.' And the bear carried her off to his cave and all her father's soldiers could not save Beauty.

For a long time, the girl cried and cried until the cave was damp and salty. But there was no use in it. The bear had taken her and she did not know how to go back to her father's keep. 'Make the best of it.' she thought and slowly, she started to be more friendly. The bear cared for Beauty, although he could not give her the lioness and the monkey. 'Not yet', he always said. Instead he made her fine dresses of flowers and colourful leaves, caught fish for her and picked berries, for he knew she was fond of them. She brushed his fur and built a fire, so that it was always warm in the cave.

And all of a sudden, Beauty noticed that she did not want to escape anymore, for she had grown to love the bear.

One day, when the bear was away catching fish, a young man came, handsome to behold, tall and strong with a black lioness at his side and a monkey on his shoulder.

'Who are you, girl?' he said to the maid.

'I am Beauty.' She replied. 'And who are you?'

'Oh, I am a prince.' He said. 'And I have quite fallen in love with you!'

In the past, that would have moved her heart but now, she only laughed.

'How can you love me when you do not know me?' she said.

'Oh, I know you well enough. Come with me and I'll make you a queen. Stay here in this cave and you will be nothing but the princess of the forest.'

Beauty was tempted. She wanted to sleep in soft beds again and wear dresses of silk, play with the monkey and admire the lioness...but she loved the bear and she would not leave him, not for the finest silk dresses, not even for the black lioness _._

'I cannot go with you', she said. 'I love the bear and I will never leave him.'

And in that moment, the prince turned into the bear.

'I love you too, Beauty. Forgive me my ruse, but I had to be certain that you truly love me.'

Then he changed back into the prince.

'I spoke true. I am a prince, son of the king of a great kingdom and I will make you my wife and queen if you accept.'"

Catherine paused.

"And, did she accept?" Frances had leapt to her feet. "You must tell me, you must!"

Charles put a hand on his eldest daughter's arm, but she did not notice.

"Of course she accepted. She travelled half the world with her prince and then, there was a wedding on the prince's castle to which Beauty's family was invited and Beauty wore a wedding gown of lily-of-the-valley and snowdrops in her hair. She rode to the altar on the black lioness with the monkey on her shoulder. And she and her prince lived happily ever after."

She was good at telling stories, he noticed. And his daughters had taken a liking to her with alarming speed. Yesterday, Mary had asked him quietly whether Lady Cat would come to visit them again after Christmas. He had not known the answer.

"Oh, another story. Just one!" Mary tugged at Catherine's sleeve.

But night had already fallen and the next day was Christmas Eve. The girls needed rest and he did not want them to grow too fond of her. Perhaps, they would never see her again.

"To bed, young lady. And you, too, Bess, Frances!" Charles said firmly.

It was a sign of their tiredness that they hardly objected. Cat left with them, still too nervous to be in the same room with him after he had made his confession yesterday...or rather what she had taken for a confession. Charles had given his word to keep quiet...given his word to a friend and he would never break it. And yet, he was tempted. Would she look at him with different eyes then?

 _I still cannot unmake my past, who I am._ He could not deny that he had been, to a certain degree still was, a terrible skirt chaser. Women fascinated him, they always had and he had never learnt to resist temptations. Rarely even tried. And why should he have? Court was for him like a flowerbed for a bee...only that now, it was only the thistle that interested him and her petals were closed to him forever.

 _I have changed since Mary's death. They say she tamed me but it was guilt more than her._ Never had Charles regretted anything as much as his marriage. It was his fault, not Mary's. He should have resisted, he should have stayed here with her...but he had not loved her enough for that. The truth was a bitter draught but he had swallowed it a while ago, standing next to her body, still beautiful in death, her face still proud.

Yet, not two months later, he had already pursued the next lady...and so forth, often together with the king. Henry always seemed to have conveniently forgotten about their farce of a marriage. He had dared Charles to chase after this lady, had challenged him for a duel to win a lady's favour,knowing that the king would almost certainly be the winner. And Charles had loved it. Now, though, Henry was as celibate as a monk, chasing after Anne Boleyn like a dog. And Charles... well, he was just as bad. Worse even, for Catherine had never even hinted that she returned his feelings. _It does make it a lot more difficult that I treated her terribly for the most part and that she thinks I have lain with her sister and sent her father to the scaffold._ He had tried to be interested in other ladies, especially when Catherine had still spent much time with that terrible Talbot. But no other lady could keep his attention, they paled in comparison to her.

In all objectivity, Catherine was not the most beautiful lady at court. But somehow, to him, she was by far the most intriguing. No, this would not help. He would have to stop thinking about it. Her changed demeanour meant nothing. She was grateful, not more.

 _And I might just join the Benedictine monks._

~o~

On Christmas Eve, there was a lavish dinner with a huge roasted turkey, roast venison, pork chops and a selection of seasonal vegetables. For Catherine, Brandon had also ordered a selection of cakes for dessert: Frnech pastries and puddings, cakes baked with sweet winter apples and little artworks of marzipan and spun sugar that had taken the cook the greater part of the week, as the man had stressed nearly ten times.

"Oh, look father, I have a swan!" Mary was delighted by the shape of her desert. Frances's dessert was a fox, Catherine's a cat and Charles's, by pure coincidence, a bear.

"They are very beautiful."

Catherine was more beautiful. She had chosen red for the day, a deep, rich hue that looked particularly good on her. She wore rubies on ears, neck and wrists and a wreath of holly in her dark blonde hair. _No Christmas angel could be more beautiful_ _._ He was happy that they were not at court where every man present would undress her with his eyes. Charles admited freely that he was a jealous man, a jealous man who had no reason for his jealousy.

After dinner, they retreated to the main parlour. "Oh, I love the decorations! Is that mistletoe? And all these red ribbons." Mary danced through the room.

"Indeed. Betha has done well."

Brandon glanced nervously at the mistletoe. It was a fashion at court: All ladies hungry for affection would wait under a mistletoe for some young gentleman to kiss her. Often, the old and greedy lords found them instead. As of lately, some lords had started waiting under the mistletoe, too, forcing the next lady that went by to allow them a quick kiss. Wise ladies evaded these spots during the twelve days of Christmas.

Hopefully, Catherine did not think that he had some immoral intentions. He had definitely not told Betha to use mistletoe in her decorations...but the woman did have a plan, Charles feared. She thought he was a widower for too long.

Gifts were exchanged, and the children danced around merrily and fell asleep on the cushions after Catherine had suggested to read the nativity story.

The servants carried them to their bedrooms but Charles and Catherine stayed behind.

"I thank you for the gift." She smiled nevously. "It is very beautiful. And special."

He had given her a rare copy of the Greek Illiad with a Latin translation, and a pendant with pearls and a huge ruby. _Ruby is the stone of love._ It was said that sorcerers made love potions with tiny rubies, that lovers wore them round their necks to strengthen their bond.

She had presented him with a painting of Penshurst, the great manor house Charles had been granted after Buckingham's fall. The painting was stunning, the artist's skill remarkable. The scene showed Penshurst and its sprawling grounds, dark woods, a pond and a meadow of summer flowers.

She knew him better than he had thought.

Charles took a step towards her, and another.

"I thank y-" He started but her gaze was directed at something green above his head. _Damn you, Betha._

She would never believe him that he had not seen it.

Confused, he took another step towards her, starting to apologise at the same time until her fingers brushed over his cheek lightly.

"It is tradition." She smiled and he did not quite understand what she meant at first- And suddenly, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, merely grazing his lips with hers in truth but that short touch was intoxicating. He forced himself to stay focused, to hold back, fearing he would otherwise lose complete control- and he knew what that would lead to.

She took a step backwards. Her green eyes were full of surprise, perhaps at her own boldness, but there was something else too.

"Merry Christmas, Your Grace." Her voice was husky.

"Merry Christmas, Catherine." His own was weak and breathy.

He watched her disappear through the main door and sank down into an armchair. The room was cooling but he never noticed. _I am lost, completely and utterly lost and there is no way out of this madness but one._ Charles had never understood Henry's obsessive affections. Of course, Charles himself had had many amorous adventures but those had been different. It had not been his head that was in love but his body. And he had never longed for a woman like he longed for her. He wanted her, body and soul, yes, but more soul than body. Not even Mary had stirred feelings like these in him.

He finally admitted it to himself now: The reason why he had not stumbled into a quick liaison with some beauty at court in the last years was not his advancing age but her, and only her. _And she thinks I have seduced her sister and sent her father to the block._ His chances were not good. But even if he was fighting a losing battle, he could do nothing but fight it. There was no giving up here, he would fight until the bitter end. And she had kissed him, so perhaps there was hope after all.

"Your Grace! You should have called! The fire is out and there is mist in the air, you will catch a cold-" Betha's face was flushed and she smelled of ale. Catherine had smelled of spices and wine and her own sublte sweet perfume.

"Merry Christmas, Betha." He rose from his chair. "And wonderful decorations."

"Ah, eh, merry Christmas, Your Grace-"

He felt her eyes on his back as he left the cold room. Charles felt like whistling some carol, felt like dancing and singing. Yes, there was hope.

He still felt her phantom lips on his.

* * *

I thank you all whole-heartedly for your reviews! They bring a smile to my face and I am always far more motivated to write.

I have decided what to do about Anne now, thank you all for your feedback!

Although I do think that the reasons why she was executed are quite complex and I think that no friend could have convinced Henry to spare Anne/ convinced him of Anne's innocence once the thought had been planted in his mind. I think it is a bit like Othello and Desdemona.

I thank you all for your ideas, especially ShinyRedPenny and Akewataru for your elaborate suggestions!


	15. Chapter 15

Hey! Thank you all so much for your reviews, likes and follows. They seriously mean a lot to me. And motivate me a lot.

Just for clarification: 10 shillings are about £220 today or 294 $

£1,000 are about £441,000 or $590,000 (I was shocked!)

Clement VII. was the unfortunate pope who saw England's break with the Catholic Church and was imprisoned by Katherine of Aragon's uncle, Charles V., Holy Roman Emperor. Poor guy, all he wanted was to wear red slippers, but the job was really tough for him.

Enjoy!

* * *

Catherine

~o~

What spirit had possessed her? She had kissed him, right there under the mistletoe like a shameless whore from Lambeth. _It was the wine._ She told herself. _He will know it was the wine, he will know it was only because of the mistletoe._ But it wasn't, of course it wasn't. She knew that much, but hopefully he didn't. _He must think me a lady of easy virtue, a right floozy. And very French indeed._

And her sister had kissed these lips, years ago. _And Leviticus says..._ But how could it be wrong? The king had lain with Mary Boleyn and now he wanted Anne. There was some sort of dispensation, no doubt. And Leviticus spoke of brothers, never of sisters... _You talk as if he wanted you too._ He had not even replied to the kiss, he had just stood there. _Why would he want to kiss me anyway, not long ago, I openly flirted with every man but him and now that he has saved my life, I throw myself at him._

Cat did not even notice that her maidservant removed the wreath from her head and helped her out of the costly gown.

 _I want to stay here forever and at the same time, I want to flee from him._ She had no idea how to face him in the morning. Should she just try to forget it? Pretend it had never happened? _Yes. What else can I do?_

The duke did the same. Together, they spent a few days with the children, awkward with each other.

Catherine behaved like a fool. One time, at the dining table, she had asked him to pass the salt, he had handed it to her and the touch of his fingers on her has startled her so much that she had let go of the salt.

"Snow on the table!" Mary had exclaimed but Frances had given Catherine a puzzled look.

The duke had gone as red as she had and they both kept their eyes on their plates for the rest of the dinner.

It was hard to say goodbye to the children. Bess and George were quiet in their sadness but Mary would not let go of Cat's skirt until Brandon threatened to lock her in her bedchamber.

They promised to return soon, perhaps before Shrove Tuesday, and then headed west.

It was a long ride and a quiet one for they both were lost in thoughts.

~o~

They arrived at Whitehall after breakfast the next day because Brandon had insisted on staying at St. Edmund's Abbey for the night.

"Cat!" Anne disregarded her courtly manners and embraced her, right there in the stableyard. Cat's gown was dusty and dirty from the ride and Anne's was too now, at the hem but she did not seem to mind. She looked great, dressed in a fine gown of green velvet and cloth of gold with huge emeralds hanging from ears and neck.

"His Majesty's Christmas gift." She said, touching the stones. "One of many."

"Mistress Anne." Brandon managed a stiff bow. _He does not like her_. Cat was not pleased. He was supposed to like her as Anne was supposed to like him.

"No longer 'Mistress', Your Grace. Haven't you heard? My Lord Father is now Earl of Wiltshire."

"Anne! You did not say a word! Since when?" Cat had reached for her friend's hand.

"Oh, it was another Christmas gift." She smiled nonchalantly. "And George is now Viscount Rochford. He would be good enough even for you, Cat. Alas, he has that terrible Parker wife. Well, you must excuse us, Your Grace. We have a lot to catch up on."

And with this remark, Anne dragged her away from Brandon. Cat barely managed a quick curtsy in his direction.

"Christmas was a _lavish_ affair. And Henry is still madly in love." Her smile was pleased but then it faded. "Campeggio is still tarrying and I fear-"

She looked back, making sure that no one had followed them, then dragged Cat to a wooden bench.

"I fear his decision. The king has been in love with me for years now but how long will he wait? How long can I keep him interested without losing my honour? I have secured my family lands and titles worth a fortune but if Henry loses interest, who will still have me?" That was the pragmatic daughter of France speaking.

"Oh, Cat, I cannot endure it. If he loses interest, starts a new liason, if he disposes of me-"

This was the passionate side that Anne hid from her family. The side that loved Henry in the same possessive, egocentric way in which he loved her. She was the king's perfect match. They were not two sides of the same coin like Katherine and Henry. They were the same side and Cat was rather certain that their shared interests would make for a happy marriage….if Anne managed to produce the long-awaited heir.

"He will not lose interest." Of that much Cat was sure. "He is a hunter."

"But how long can I still make him wait? I defend my virtue and so does he, but he is a man after all and he desires-" She stopped abruptly. "Lady Rochford."

Jane Parker, George Boleyn's terrible wife, came walking down the path.

"Ah, Lady Anne." Jane curtsied to her first. "And Lady Catherine. Are you enjoying the winter weather?"

"Yes, thank you, but we would rather enjoy it without you." Anne said, quite matter of factly and Cat dug her nails in her skirt.

"A joke." She laughed. "Come, sit with us, Jane. How was your Christmas?"

Jane did not sit down. Her gaze went from Anne to Cat wearily. "A splendid feast." She said slowly. "And yours?"

"Rather quiet."

"I heard you spent the holidays at His Grace's family home? Where he lived with the French Queen?" Jane's curiosity fought with her pride. It seemed curiosity won.

"Indeed."

"And, did you find it very French in style? Did he have many servants? Do the children look like their mother?"

"It is very elegant but English, I have not counted the servants and yes, the children resemble their mother."

Jane was a terrible gossipmonger and incredibly curious. But Anne should not show open hostility. Many at court already resented her for she had risen so quickly. She needed her family.

"Ah." Apparently thinking of other questions, Jane paused.

"Dearest Jane." Anne smiled. "I cannot find my book of hours although I am sure I had it in my pocket. Would you be so kind as to see whether I left it in my rooms? Tell the guards I allowed it."

Jane's round face brightened.

"As you wish, Lady Anne."

And she was gone.

"There, wasn't that elegant? She will love sniffing through my papers and things. You should not have pinched me, The bruise on my thigh will be my constant companion for years."

"Forgive me. But you were so rude! Nan, sometimes I think you forget yourself."

"I had a quarrel with my uncle shortly after Christmas Eve." Anne admitted. "He says I spoke to him like others would not speak to a dog."

"Well, I am fonder of the stable boy's dog than of your uncle. But continue."

Anne grinned. "I should have told him so. Your sister, his wife, she openly spoke against me and tried to smuggle a letter to the Queen. Mine own aunt! Henry sent her away and I scolded my uncle and well, we quarrelled."

"Elizabeth was never wise. Many of the old families secretly support Katherine, you know that. But Elizabeth cannot harm you. As far as I know, not even Norfolk, her own husband, trusts her enough to allow her to keep his household and he has had a mistress for years. You are ironclad, Anne. At least for now."

"For now." She echoed. "And what do I do if the Pope refuses to grant this annulment?"

"Well, there is a monk from Wittelsbach, who preaches that the Pope does not have supremacy…" Cat allowed the sentence to sink in.

"You fine heretic." Anne smiled her delicate, scheming smile, the Boleyn smile her father had as well. "Henry has read Tynedale. Why would he not read Lutheran writings?"

"Perhaps because he earned his title Defender of the Faith by defaming Luther? Start slowly Anne. Plant the doubt. Henry is no schoolboy, he will look for other ways soon enough."

"Oh, I feel wicked." That seemed to exhilarate her. "Marry Henry _and_ reform the church. Why, it truly is Christmas. Of course he will not tire of me. We have so much in common, he loves me. I will withdraw to Hever again soon and he will be mad with longing. Then I will return and he will be excited again. During lent, he cannot pursue me anyway and who knows, perhaps the Pope has come to a decision before Easter!"

All the tension was gone. "Ah, now tell me of your Christmas, Cat. I hope you are still unpromised and untouched?"

Cat nudged her in the side for that. But she did tell her what happened.

"You kissed him? Have you taken leave of your wits? Oh, truly. I would not have thought you so bold."

"Neither would I. It was the wine and the moment and the mistletoe."

"Do not blame it on the poor plant! Now, what did he say? Did he reply? The French way?" Anne laughed again.

"Could you please take this seriously? He did not reply. Neither in the French way, nor in the English." That was what drove her mad. That he had not even shown any reaction.

"I think not replying is the English way. He was surely surprised and before he had grasped what was happening, you had already retreated. Men in general are slow of mind, we both know that much. Oh, he will surely try again. You must dance with him, and often. And wear gowns that make him dream of you. Catherine, Duchess of Suffolk. Now, that sounds good. You will be lady of my bedchamber when I am Queen and sit on my right."

"He has lain with my sister." Cat remarked quietly.

"In all truth, Cat, I fear most men at court have lain with your sister. With that one at least. It does not matt-"

"Of course it matters. She died because of that, Anne. Her health was fragile and that draughty house hastened the decline of her health and-"

"William Compton died of the sweat. William Carey died of the sweat. Little Kitty Willoughby died of the sweat. It was not the house she lived in. It was the sweat, Catherine. Stop finding excuses. You have fallen in love with him. I find it very strange for you used to loathe each other with such a passion...but ithen again, I have long suspected him of hiding more tender feelings under the guise of hatred."

"Well, you could have share your suspections far earlier."

"I wasn't aware of your feelings because you hid them like a Spanishwoman. But it is not too late. Look at you. He will propose marriage to you before Ash Wednesday. You will be married after Easter and have an heir just after Christmas."

Anne looked very pleased. "See, you would even regain the title your father has lost."

"Duchess of Suffolk is not Duchess of Buckingham." One title had been given to a mere standardbearer's son, one had passed down through generations...through generations of traitors, it seemed.

"How is Katherine?" She knew better than calling her Queen in Anne's presence.

Thankfully, Anne got the hint. "She called me grasping and overly ambitious. And her ambassador calls me a whore."

"To your face?" Cat was shocked.

"Never. But behind my back. That old woman will betray me, she is plotting against me even now."

"Betrayal never comes from your enemies, Anne." Her father had learnt that lesson.

"Well, I do hope that you don't plan on doing something silly." Anne smiled but it was strained.

Cat saw why later in the evening. Not many were brave enough to be openly hostile towards Anne and her faction, but the sour faces and mumbled curses were enough. The King seemed not to notice, he saw no one but Anne anyway. But Anne did. And Anne was furious. She noticed every face that did not smile, every one that whispered words into their neighbour's ear, eyes on the king's new mistress. "These are my enemies. All of them. They support Katherine. Oh, what can I do against so many?"

Her despair was understandable, half the court (mostly old families and those that did not profit from the rise of the Howard-Boleyn faction) was secretly plotting against Anne. But it did not matter. Not as long as Henry was in love with her.

"The king looks at you."

Anne smiled.

"He always does, Anne. The lion is yours, why would you worry about the opinion of sheep? You need the support of your family but apart from them, you need no one but him. Look how high you have risen."

Anne was wearing scarlet and cloth of gold, rubies shone in her hair and at her pale throat.

"You are the true queen already now. And it will not be long. You are too suspicious. Smile, be merry. He loves you."

Anne gave Henry a dazzling smile. "He truly does, doesn't he? Oh, Cat, it is Wolsey, he and Campeggio and that dry old woman. As soon as we have the annulment, I'll be merrier than a tavern wench, I promise."

Rome's decision was straining not only Anne's nerves. The whole court was frightened but they all were perfect mummers. Henry did not want to hear doubts, no one but Anne was allowed to voice them. He wanted confidence. Like a young boy he seemed to believe that he could alter reality with no more than his own willpower. He was king by divine right after all. But the Pope was chosen by God as well...God would not pit his two sons against each other, would He?

~o~

A fortnight later, Whitehall

Charles

~o~

Henry put a brave face on but in front of his best and oldest friend, his mask slipped.

"What can I do if Clement says no? What can a King of England do against a Pope's decision?"

Charles did not know either. He had never read the scriptures, theology interested him little. There was a God, of that he was certain. He was not always a very helpful fellow, and why should He care ? They were ants under His feet. Just like a human might be curious about those tiny creatures that could carry so much, perhaps God looked at them too. But then, His attention would waver and they were left to themselves again. That was how Charles felt like more oft than not and every Sunday he went to shrift to confess, just to make sure that God was not cross with him. It had rarely helped. But this was not what Henry wanted to hear. Henry wanted a few bible passages that proved he was right, and if Charles didn't find any, he would have to write some new. Henry wanted what he wanted.

"He will, Your Majesty." Charles said but the king was not pleased.

"I am right. He should. But what if he does not?"

This was difficult and Charles wished for Gardiner or even Rochford, no, Wiltshire, now. They would have known a dozen passages to calm their king down.

"You mean what if the Pope errs?"

Henry looked at him as if he had said something very, very outrageous. But suddenly, a smile brightened his worried features.

"Exactly." he murmured. "What if he errs?"

He slapped Charles on the shoulder. "Brilliant. Brilliant. Of course. Tennis this afternoon?" He shouted over his shoulder as he left the room, almost running.

Charles did not have to reply. Of course he would be there.

He was there. And _she_ was, too. His hands started sweating. He did not want to lose in front of her. There were few enough things he could impress her with. She stood in the front row with the Mistress Anne, now Lady of course. Catherine was dressed modestly, her attire was eclipsed by her friend's but her features were so beautiful, the smile she sent him as soon as she saw him was so enchanting that Charles's foolish heart fluttered. And then the game started.

"10 shillings on the king." Lady Anne said provocatively. "What about you, Catherine?"

I have learnt a while ago that gambling is not for me."

"A simple bet. Come now, Cat."

But Catherine only smiled and shook her head. _Does she think she would lose her money if she placed a bet on me?_

Charles was even more adamant to win now. His serves were hard and precise and the king stood no chance.

"What got into you, Charles?" he asked when the game was finally over but Charles only shook his head. No here.

Henry understood- and for a moment, his eyes darted over to Catherine.

"You need a hunt. God knows, I need a hunt too. We start on the morrow and return on the next. Or the one after that. Who knows. Only you and I. No women."

And no Boleyns. The Lady Anne would not like it but Charles was thankful. Perhaps Henry knew what to do. He always did. Christmas and Epiphany were over and a few dull weeks would follow and he was as relieved as Henry to leave court for a while, to leave her for a while.

"Perhaps Norris and Carew would like to join." Norris was a pleasant fellow and Carew as conservative as the Pope, a rogue and a skirt chaser in his youth...well, he still was, only that fewer skirts lifted for him, especially since his marriage. But none of them would cite Leviticus, none of them would mention Luther or Lady Anne. No one would remind him of Catherine for a while.

"Aye." Henry did not suggest Rochford or Wiltshire.

He walked over to his sweetheart and left Charles alone on the court.

"You did well." Catherine smiled but he was not sure whether her tone was perhaps mocking.

"Are you so surprised?" He did sound a tad sulky.

She seemed to be taken aback: "N-no. Of course not. I just-"

 _Oh, you goddamn fool._ He had been too sensitive.

"A jape." He touched her lightly at the shoulder and suddenly, his thoughts raced back to Christmas and he stared at her mouth. "Forgive me." He smiled. "Why did you not place a bet?"

"I think gambling is not something I am very good at. That includes bets."

Talbot was still on her mind. One good thing about being as simple as he was was that he forgot everything. Nothing was on his mind longer than a fortnight- well, apart from her.

"One badly placed bet does not mean you do not have talent. We should gamble some time. I am certain you'll do well, my lady."

"A brilliant idea." Lady Anne was still in Henry's arms but apparently, she had heard him. "We love to gamble...we will think of some convincing wagers. As soon as you have returned from your hunting trip." _Damn her._

"Hunting trip?" Catherine looked at him with surprise.

"Only the king and I and a few companions. We won't be long."

No, they really wouldn't be away long, for both he and Henry had a reason to return home quickly. _Some convincing wagers._ At court, it was not always money. More oft than were it things money could not buy. A poem, a dance, a kiss. Yes, Charles would ride like the wind.

~o~

Catherine

~o~

"You could have won a lot of money." The Duke of Norfolk, Anne's uncle and Cat's brother-in-law, had approached her silently. The king had just left with Anne and Catherine was still too awkward to be alone with the duke, so she had stayed behind.

"Or lost it." she replied and he laughed his unpleasant, sharp courtier's laugh.

"You seem to be far more sensible than your sister. Perhaps I should have waited a few years and married you instead." _I would have sooner entered a convent._ It was nothing, only banter. But it still made her angry. In all truth, Cat had never been very fond of her eldest sister. Elizabeth's sense of entitlement had only been eclipsed by their father's. But Elizabeth had forsaken Ralph, her beloved Ralph, to marry this rich despot.

"Your father had promised me a pliant filly but I am married to a lioness." Again that unpleasant smile.

"Well, good brother, you should have taken a look at the heraldry of the Staffords before choosing your bride." The English lion passant guardant was part of their heraldry. "And if a horse goes bad, the fault lies with the owner, every stableboy will tell you, Your Grace."

"How dare you talk to me like that. I saved your sister from ruin. I cried when the sentence was passed that doomed your father."

"No doubt the lands worth £1,000 a year that you received after his death have helped you to dry your tears. You must excuse me now. A good day, good brother."

She left the furious Norfolk behind. His days were over. With Henry, a new court had formed, one that replied not on blood but on loyalty and character. She was part of this court. Norfolk was a fossil from olden days.

Catherine was not at all happy to see Brandon leave the next day. She would miss him, she admitted to herself, though not to Anne, who was equally bad-tempered because Henry had left without her. But perhaps in his absence, her heart would stop fluttering like a little bird's wings and she would finally stop behaving like a complete fool. And hopefully, her absence would make his heart grow fonder.

* * *

Thank you for reading!

I shamelessly borrowed a sentence from wise Kevan Lannister from ASoIaF. He said "If a dog goes bad, the fault lies with his master."

Replies to reviews:

Xenocanaan: Thank you for your review! I would love to tell you but it would perhaps spoil the surprise ;) I'm really happy that you like this.

Dear Guests 1 and 2: As for Anne's fate, I have now made my mind up. I am not a huge fan of this "Elizabeth has a twin brother" scenario but I hope you will still not be disappointed :)

Dear Guest 3: Thank you for the feedback, it made me so happy! I love doing research for this, it was such an interesting period! But thank you!

Sparky She-Demon: Thanks a lot, there's no greater compliment!


	16. Chapter 16

Thank you all for your feedback! It motivates me so much, really.

This one took me quite a while because I wanted to include so many things and had to look stuff up. Well, here it is. Next one is already half-finished and I will stray a bit from the path of historical reality now (I will just speed things up a bit. Henry and Anne found it hard to live with the tension and so do I!) , I hope you can forgive me ;)

Quick reminder: Cat's sister Elizabeth is Anne's aunt by marriage, as she is married to Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, the brother of Anne's mother.

Anyway, here you go.

* * *

February, Ashridge Estate, Hertfordshire

Charles

~o~

"Ho!" The king was in a great mood despite the absence of his sweetheart. He sent game and passionate letters but apart from that, he seemed to live for the moment. Charles understood. At court, there was not only Lady Anne. Campeggio bothered him, Wolsey bothered him and the Que- Katherine bothered him. Charles had already suggested to send Wolsey away as soon as he was no longer needed for the negotiations with Campeggio and Henry had not protested. He had asked him sharply whether he should send the Queen away, too. Charles had stuttered his reply until Henry had stopped him with a laugh. "You will never be a politician, Charles. Too hot-headed, a warrior, not a courtier." He was right.

This hunt was a welcome break from court, from the lies and schemes and flattery that he had come to resent so much. But he still looked forward to going back to Hampton Court, only for her and Lady Anne's suggestion. Gambling with her excited him. Everyone at court played cards and dice and now, in the cold season, everyone grew bolder and more daring. Charles had won countless dances, poems, songs and even a kiss here and there. He was a good player, could keep a straight face and had a talent for seeing through acts and lies. He had wanted to kiss her again ever since Christmas Day, ever since he had been too baffled to respond. He still felt his cheeks redden when he thought about it. He, the most notorious seducer at court, had stood there like a stable boy. He had sworn to try again at court but Lady Anne and Catherine were inseparable and he could not work up the courage to openly ask her to go for a walk with him. It was considered a perfectly acceptable wager though. She would not offer him a kiss, she was too shy for that, but Lady Anne would, spurring the king. Catherine would offer a dance, or perhaps a poem. Whatever she would choose, it would be something intimate, courtly fashion decreed. And he would seize the moment. Perhaps he would even be bold enough to ask her. She had kissed him, after all, that meant something. _Wine and gratitude, that's what it meant._ She had been alone with him for so long, that had contributed to it as well, for sure. At court, they were rarely alone and all intimacy had vanished and Charles missed it dearly.

He was almost certain that he wanted to marry her. He had to, for there was no other woman for him. He would do everything in his power to win her.

Perhaps she missed him as well, only a bit. That would be enough for him for now.

"Charles? If we continue at this pace, even the badgers will outrun us."

Charles spurred his horse and reined in next to his king.

"I thought it was a doe you're hunting for, Your Majesty." He grinned.

"Sometimes, I think you have it in you to become a great poet." Henry grinned back. "The saying goes that it is love that turns a man into a poet. Tell me, Charles, who is the unlucky subject of your affections?"

It was perhaps considered high treason to punch a king but Charles was tempted for a moment but luckily, something distracted him.

"The unlucky subject of this hunt is within reach, Your Majesty." He whispered. Indeed, not a hundred yards away, a majestic deer had lowered its head to drink from a little brook.

They were lucky for the wind did seem to carry their voices in the opposite direction.

"Do not think I will forget this, Charles." Henry grinned as he drew the bowstring. "I have a suspicion anyway. And you know of course-" He let go and the arrow flew through the air. "-that I always hit the bull's eye." The deer fell with a dying cry of agony. It was already dead when they reached it, blood coloured the water of the brook bright red but only a few yards farther down, it had been diluted and no trace of red was to be found in the crystal clear water.

~o~

Hampton Court Palace

Catherine

~o~

It was strange at court without the king. There was no one to join the two factions that had formed: Katherine's and Anne's. Cat was still stuck between them though neither of both was exceptionally understanding. Anne got angry every time Cat served the Queen and the Queen, while far more courteous than Anne, was equally displeased with her. She just hid it better. But Cat was never called forth to read to her, never did the Queen chat with her in Spanish as she had before. Only the old and the old-fashioned remained with the Queen and Cat could not deny that Anne's chambers were far jollier.

There was a new musician, Mark Smeaton, and he and his violin had made Cat cry more than once. There were games and dances and Anne encouraged poetry and music. They embroidered chemises for the poor and an altarcloth because Anne did not want to be eclipsed by the Queen. They went to mass thrice a day and Anne did not even eat fish on a friday. She did everything a queen was expected to do and more. She was Henry's perfect counterpart.

But even her immense efforts could not overshadow the tensions at court. She was only an earl's daughter who had presumed much, who had risen above all others. Elizabeth, Cat's sister, Duchess of Norfolk, was back at court briefly and refused to curtsy to her niece. She refused to talk to her sister, too, though Cat could not say that she had missed her much. Elizabeth was too proud to be a pleasant companion, too dull-witted and too boisterous.

Old Norfolk had not approached Cat since the tennis match but she was aware that she was not exactly in his good books. It did not matter. Yes, he did wield significant influence amongst those of old blood but that counted for little and less these days. A knight's daughter would be queen, a standard bearer's son was the king's best friend and a traitor's daughter would make her own way. The old days were over.

Wolsey had paled even more and he was constantly sweating. Campeggio was not an easy guest and in the king's absence, it fell to the Cardinal to entertain him- and secure the king the annulment he so desperately wanted. Anne's hatred for him had grown cold. She had risen higher than Wolsey had ever anticipated but her power had not changed her nature. She was as vengeful as ever.

"He will lose everything." She said one evening when Cat shared a cup of wine with her in Anne's grand bedchamber.

"His position as archbishop you mean?"

Anne smiled. "Oh, Cat. You were always too sweet for this world. No. I mean everything. His position, his wealth, his woman, his children...his life."

Cat was at court too long to be shocked. A life was shattered in moments here.

"It is not worth it, Nan." It really wasn't. "Do not waste your time on him. He is no longer important. Let him go to York. Choose a new Archbishop of Canterbury. One of our faith. But leave the Cardinal be. Perhaps one day, you will have need of him."

"Never. There is nothing this butcher's boy could give me. I have _taken_ everything I want. And I cannot forget his arrogance. No. You might be as forgiving as the virgin Mary, but I am not. And when he is ruined, I will smile in his face and he will know that the day of vengeance has come."

Cat loved Anne for her passionate character but her unforgiving nature would one day pose a problem in this fast moving world that had neither conscience nor memory. Forward was the way, not backwards.

"Well." Cat drank up her wine. "Then I will pray for him. With you as his enemy, he has need every single prayer."

~o~

In the king's absence, both factions grew bolder with every passing day. One of Ambassador Chapuys' men had called Anne a scheming whore. George Boleyn had defended his sister fiercely but not wisely. The Boleyns all had a temper. Chapuys was indignant as he took the insult personally, Anne was again scared to be brought down by Katherine without Henry to protect her from the Spanish queen.  
The air was full of hostility and suppressed anger when finally, after months of avoiding each other, the worst possible scenario happened: Anne and the Queen met. In the Great Hall, right before dinner. Both were supposed to be somewhere else and therefore rather shocked for a moment, but this shock soon turned to cool hostility.

Anne did not bend the knee. She kept her intriguing dark eyes on her Queen, the lady she refused to acknowledge as her mistress.

Katherine on the other hand seemed to fight her impulse to say something harsh but her cool blue eyes gave her feelings away.

Cat stood between them, had walked ahead to tell Mark to play a certain song Anne was fond of to calm her. She took a step towards Anne- and received a piercing look from her queen.

Katherine was the first to speak after a long moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Lady Anne." Her voice was impressively calm but cool. She acknowledged Anne's new title.

"Madam." Anne did not sink into a curtsy, an open affront- but still better for her position at court than bending the knee. Her self-assurance showed the courtiers that she had not reason to doubt that soon, she would have no reason to curtsy to anyone but the king. That soon, Katherine's jewels would belong to her.

"I take it you are on your way to your new chambers. I cannot stop you. But these are fickle days, my lady. I advise you not to feel too much at home there."

She did not take a step back to let Anne pass but Anne would not just leave anyway.

"Oh, I won't for I do intend to move to a new suite of rooms soon enough." She smiled, a smile laced with victory. "Enjoy your dinner, madam."

As she walked past the Queen, the hem of her bold azure blue gown brushed against the Queen's classic purple velvet dress.

The Queen had no choice but to stare after them and Cat tried to ignore the stab of guilt as she followed Anne to the extravagant suite of rooms at the far end of the palace where Anne still resided now while the Queen, all alone in the royal chambers, had to wonder how long she would still reside there.

~o~

The king's return to court came as a relief. He was in a great mood, always laughing and joking after almost three weeks in the countryside. Anne was about to withdraw to Hever, angry that Henry had left her alone for so long, but the king lifted her off her horse, kissed her in front of half the court and professed his love for her in words so sweet that even Thomas Wyatt's poetry paled in comparison. And when Henry promised to host a ball in her honour and to go on a more elaborate hunting trip with picnics, dances and games as soon as the weather allowed, Anne grudgingly allowed him to kiss her again. Cat had to hide a smile.

"Have you enjoyed life at court in our absence?" Brandon appeared next to her out of the blue and Cat forgot about the king and Anne alltogether.

"I will enjoy it far more now", she said without thinking, biting her lip for being so obvious. She knew how to flirt well normally. And a lady would never openly admit her affection, she would run from her admirer until he was mad with love, then she would perhaps allow him to catch her. _Well, I seem to have forgotten my education. I leapt into his arms at Christmas and now I am as obvious in my feelings as a farmer's daughter during the hay harvest._ Perhaps she should offer him a few wet kisses behind the haystack.

He looked at her with confusion for a moment, then he smiled the empty courtier smile they all had practiced so well.

"Yes. His Majesty is in high spirits. No doubt the days till lent will be filled with entertainment."

"A ball, a hunting trip, dances and masques. The days have to be twice as long so that we can still sleep." _What am I even saying here?_ She shook her head at her own foolishness but he did not seem to notice.

"And games. Gambling, if I remember correctly." He smiled differently this time. "I hope you are prepared to lose, my lady." Brandon offered her his arm to walk inside and she did not hesitate to lay her fingers on the dark wool of his fashionable doublet. Her heart was jumping in her chest.

"Oh, I learnt playing cards in France, Your Grace. I know every trick in the book."

"Perhaps it will come in handy then that I read so rarely." His laugh was infectious.

~o~

"Well now, Lady Catherine. Are you ready?" The king grinned. It was a cold afternoon at Hampton Court and they were forced to stay inside but he was still merry after his reunion with Anne.

"I am."

Anne already held a pack of playing cards in hand. "Shall we play Rentoy? Catherine and I against Your Majesty and His Grace?"

Henry shot Catherine a quick glance, perhaps to see her reaction, but she was not aware why. Anne was setting her up against Brandon because that meant she would have to pay her wager to him. And wagers of gold were unfashionable in mixed groups. She would have to give him a dance, a poem, a song...or a kiss. She felt a blush betraying her thoughts and hastily raised a hand to hide it.

"What is your wager, Lady Catherine?" The king asked as if he had read her thoughts. She risked a quick sideglance at Brandon who did not seem to listen. Or perhaps he was just very good at pretending. Anne on the other hand was a tad too excited.

 _She could just as well shout it for all to hear._ Certainly Brandon would take note of her strange behaviour? No, it seemed he didn't. He didn't even look at her at all. Cat was almost disappointed. Well, no, she was disappointed. And in her wish to get his attention, she did something very silly. She did not object when Anne, flirting with the king, conveniently forgetting that Catherine had told her not to do something French, offered a kiss. It meant nothing in France, a _bisou_ , a friendly kiss, a mere peck on the cheek. England had surpassed France in frivolity though and here, she was quite certain, it would more than a _bisou._

But she had achieved what she had wanted: Brandon's attention. Now though, she damned her reckless, foolish courage. How would he respect her after all if he thought her one of those loose women. _Those? First Christmas, now this. I have lost all shame and judgement it seems. Good that mother is not here to see what has become of her little girl._ While she herself considered her own behaviour improper, she knew she was not doing anything overly immoral in the eyes of the court. In fact, the company Henry and Anne kept was likewise frivolous and those kind of favours were constantly exchanged.

"And what can we offer you?" Henry stared only at Anne.

"Oh, let us just say you will have to grant us a wish." Nan smiled the smile she had reserved for Henry, her fingers went to her neck as if she only meant to rearange the golden B but Henry's gaze dropped to her chest and stayed there for an inappropriate amount of time.

"Well, then we can begin, I think." Brandon raised his voice, hoping to rouse the king from his thoughts but he was not really successful.

"Yes, begin, indeed."

Anne dealt the cards with utmost fuss and Henry followed every movement of her slender hands with hungry eyes. Once, her fingers brushed against his, only briefly, but the King of England shuddered under her touch. _He is mad with love for her, mad with passion, desire, lust, affection._ Anne had no reason to fear that his feelings for her would cool anytime soon.

Cat took up her cards. They were not bad, a Valet of Hearts and a Queen of Clubs amongst them. Anne placed one card in the middle of the table, face up. Hearts were trump. Sometimes, life wrote the best allegories.

"You play with hearts, my lady Anne?" Henry asked.

"Oh no, I offer you mine." Her smile would have put the devil to shame. "Be careful with it, I only have that one to give."

A quick glance at the king told Cat that he would be no threat. It was like duelling a man with his head in the clouds. He had barely glanced at his cards, instead, he stared at Anne, who pretended not to notice but Cat knew her well enough to know that she was equally excited. _Oh, Lord. This is not a game for four people but for two and a half._ She glanced at Brandon and caught the look of amusement on his handsome face. Well, at least he was enjoying himself.

"Your Majesty." The duke gently reminded his friend that it was his turn. The king threw a card on top of the first without really looking at it and Cat had to suppress a grin. A high trump card, wasted right at the beginning. Brandon said nothing, his face betrayed no emotions. That surprised her, normally, he was not good at hiding his felings. His own card gave nothing away, was as nondescript as one of Francis Talbot's love poems.

She herself hesitated a tad too long and cursed herself when she saw that Brandon had noticed.

Anne played only marginally better than the king but Brandon was better than Catherine. While Anne and Henry flirted, Brandon and Catherine played. He was quicker than her and more daring. Catherine was used to being the better player and this situation was new. Or perhaps, deep down, she did not really try to win.

Brandon (and the king, who paid more atention towards the end) won by a hair's breadth, but they won.

While Henry claimed Anne's wager there and then, Brandon only looked at Catherine.  
She felt heat rising to her cheeks. Oh God, this was embarrassing.

"Shall we?" She nodded at an alcove in the great audience chamber, a niche hung with sumptuous fabrics that would shield them from prying eyes. There were a few of these nooks that allowed lovers and confidants to share a moment of intimacy without appearing too immodest.

 _'Shall we'. How very seductive._

"After you, my lady." Brandon nodded unsmiling.

Anne's eyes followed her and perhaps Jane Parker's but the other courtiers were preoccupied it seemed. Thankfully.

The light in the niche was dim once Brandon had drawn the curtains close. He stood only inches away from her, she could feel his body's warmth without touching him.

His gaze was intense and she stared back, unable to think of something witty to lighten the mood.

Her heart drummed in her own ears as if it was on parade, so loudly that he was surely able to hear it. Would he kiss her now? Or did he expect her to pay the wager?

"I do not want to win this on the card table." He said and her loud heart skipped a beat. He did not want to kiss her at all. He could have just as well thrown her into a tub of ice water.

"I shouldn't have offered it." She replied, trying to hide the bitterness, and, to her surprise, saw a jolt of disappointment darting over his face.

"Well, you haven't." His tone was cooler now and suddenly, Cat understood.

"I do not want it this way either." She said and waited for his reaction, subconsciously holding her breath. It took him a while, but then his face lit up.

"So you want it a different way?" He blurted out.

"I could be persuaded." She smiled. Brandon reached up to caress her cheek, then his fingers travelled from her jaw to her collarbone and Catherine inhaled sharply when he touched the sensitive skin of her neck on the way. _You floosy._ It was her father's voice but she did not care.

Gingerly, she reached out to touch his chest, feel the warmth of his body through the velvet of his doublet. Her fingers crept up slowly, and she marvelled at their path as if they were not part of her arm. She felt a hint of stubble on his cheek when he cupped it with her hand. The black of his eyes had consumed most of the blue and his gaze was so intense that she felt goosebumps forming on her skin. Slowly, as if to draw out the moment, he lowered his head. She was ready to kiss him back, but unexpectedly, he brought his lips to her ear instead: "I will try to persuade you then, my lady." She could feel his warm breath on her skin when he chuckled and was tempted to just press her lips onto his. But then, she let go, her fingers fell nimbly to her side. It had been her who had initiated the kiss last time. This time, he would have to approach her. She had lost most of her dignity already but if she did it again, she would not be much better than a Smithfield whore. Catherine tilted her head to face him, her nose only inches away from his: "I suggest you put your best foot forward, Your Grace. I am a Stafford of Buckingham. We are not easily convinced."

He grinned back, the fingers that still lingered on her skin twitched in excitement.

"I will keep it in mind." He whispered in a hoarse voice before he brushed over the soft skin under her earlobe one last time (Cat tried hard not to suck in her breath too audibly) and left the privacy of their little nook. _Oh, Lord._ She sank onto a chair. Her heart was still racing in her chest and she felt his phantom touch on her skin.

What did it mean? Was he interested in her as a person? Or was it just physical attraction? But he knew that he would never get under her skirt, didn't he? Was this all a game for him? She was a floosy, yes, but she was no whore. Hopefully he did not think her as loose as her sister- And there she was again, Mary, loud and bold and ruining everything. _He is a skirt chaser, always has been. My skirt is just one of many._ He could try all he wanted, she would not lift hers for him. A kiss was all she was willing to give. Somehow, the excitement ebbed away. She had fallen for him like Petrarch for his Laura, like Isolde for handsome Tristan. But was it the same for Brandon? He was no young, naive maiden. Young naive maidens were his prey, rumour had it. He was old enough to know what he wanted and experienced enough to know how to get it. She remembered his touch, shuddered, and wondered whether he knew he had this effect on her. Whether it was only a shoddy trick that worked on all women.

If she was only one of many though, he could have just taken the kiss here and now and moved on. Or was it the hunt he enjoyed? He had saved her from the king's wrath, too. It did not fit.  
On the one hand, there was the Brandon that was always kind to her, even when she did not notice. The Brandon that had saved her without ever acknowledging the part he had played. The Brandon that had consoled her after her sister's death, the Brandon that had offered himself as a shield in a snowball fight and rubbed her frozen hands warm. But he was also a courtier, the king's best friend, sharp-tongued, bold, daring, audacious, impertinent. The man that had women blush and drool within moments. The man that had married thrice: a girl with a fortune, an old lady with a fortune, the king's sister. He was scandalous but had still retained the king's affection like no one else. He was a skirt chaser if there ever was one. Half the young ladies at court had succumbed to his charms, just like she herself was about to. That was, if the rumours were true. And rumours rarely were. They were never quite off the mark, dangerously close, so close that everyone took them for the truth- and yet, they were miles away from it.

Oh, she wanted to ask him what his intentions were, wanted to beg him to want her back. But her pride, at long last, reminded her of its existence. _No. Not again. I will be patient. I will wait. If he is seriously interested, I will find out. If all he want is to get between my legs_ (Cat blushed at the thought) _then I am not losing much._ There were other men after all. Perhaps not as charming, not as daring, not as intriguing but men with a title and a fortune. If she could not marry for sentiment, she would marry for worldy reasons. Most ladies did and she had heard that some did not regret it. _I will be patience personified and will not behave in such a frivolous manner again. If he wants me, he will accept it._  
Perhaps in the meantime, she would actually find a way to circumvent the nagging obstacle called 'Mary'. Because that much was certain: Leviticus said that their match was cursed and although Henry displayed a strange moral flexibility, she did not have the same ability to delude herself. Brandon had lain with her sister, he had admitted it. And did she really want to be with the man who was responsible for her sister's disgrace? _YES!_ her stupid heart shouted, _...perhaps not_ , her brain offered hesitantly. So much for making up her mind.

It was Anne that roused her from her thoughts. "Are you planning on coming back before Easter?" she asked. "And where is Brandon?"

There was a movement outside the little nook, whoever tried to spy was hidden by rich drapings.

Anne had seen it too. "Ah, although I would love to listen whether he actually managed to write a poem for you, I think it is time to change for dinner."

"No poem." Cat replied. "But yes, I need to change as well."

Only in the sanctuary of Anne's private chambers did they speak again. Anne pulled Cat down onto an upholstered bench that was covered with embroidery frames and Catherine was careful not to sit down on a needle.

"So? What happened? You were away for so long, I already thought you had lost your virginity."

Cat blushed. "Anne!" she cried out with indignation.

"Well, someone here has to." Bitterness laced her voice. Anne was waiting for her wedding night for years now.

"So, what happened? Did he reply this time? Or did you play the chaste maiden and refuse him?"

Apparently, her face did give something away. "No. Please do not say that you refused him! Cat, do not tell me that we did all this for nothing."

Cat laughed. "Why, you mean you took great pains to play a game of cards and flirt with the king? I thank you, Nan, there is no better friend."

Anne grinned. "I am glad you appreciate my sacrifice. But do not torture me. Did you refuse him?"

Cat looked at the piece of embroidery that lay between them. "No. But he did not kiss me either. Oh, Anne-"

" 'Oh, Anne'. Is it truly this bad, is it?" Anne chuckled."My lovesick little Cat." The lovesick little Cat was about to stab Anne with one of the long embroidery needles when Anne raised a hand, signalling defeat. She had still not stopped laughing thouhh.

"Do you want to know or not?"

Anne nodded, bit back the grin. Cat told her what happened and Anne was now the perfect listener.

"I told you! He is as mad for you as you are for him", she said when Cat had finished.

"Have you listened? He could have kissed me but he hasn't."

"Men are hunters." Anne smiled. "He wants to feel as if he deserves your kiss."

"You are only trying to comfort me."

"And you are behaving like a fool. You have spent so much time at court, you know how men flirt. But now, all of a sudden, you are as simple as a milkmaid."

"Why, thank you, it is always good to hear encouraging words from a friend."

"Well, your tongue is still sharp enough to make you an old spinster." Anne grinned. "You know how the game works, Cat. Stop being scared and self-conscious. He wants you."

"That might be." She remembered the way he had looked at her. "Well, yes, perhaps he does. But he is Charles Brandon. The most notorious philander at the English court. Not only here. He even charmed Margaret of Austria in the Netherlands and God knows who in France. Can he really be serious? Because I am not playing any other game but the one for the ring."

Anne was silent for a suspiciously long time. "I know. And I suppose he knows that you are not one to open your legs for a man. When Talbot -"

"When Talbot?" Cat felt her heart sink in her chest.

"He started telling some tales during the inquiry but Brandon defended your honour. No one actually believed Talbot's claims, you have always had a virtuous reputation, but not many spoke up against him. Brandon did. He knows that you are no loose woman like-"

"Our sisters." Cat smiled sadly.

"Exactly. But I know what you mean. Perhaps that offers a greater challenge. A woman of noble birth, a virtuous virgin. I do not know him well enough. Do you feel like that is all he wants?"

Catherine thought hard. "No. Yes. I don't know. He is so changeable."

"Well, I must admit, I don't either. He was an unfaithful husband even to Mary Rose Tudor. But it it seems as if he had no affairs lately."

"Or he hid them well."

Anne shook her head. "No. I think if he had an ongoing affair, I would know. But that does not mean that he had no dalliance, that he has given up his philandering ways completely."

It did not exactly encourage Cat that Anne was not certain either.

"Well, just wait. And if a lady can make a husband out of Charles Brandon, it is you." She stifled a laugh. "Catherine Stafford, tamer of skirt chasers."

"And who are you? Tamer of kings?"

"Only one so far and I am not quite sure who tames whom." Her friend admitted with a subdued smile. Then she shook her head and rose from the bench, walked over to the wardrobe. "So. What will you wear to tame him then? Aphrodite's costume?"

The embroidery frame hit her at the shoulder.

"I deserved that." Anne admitted. "But the question remains."

"I have a new one made from fabric I got for Christmas. Red damask with a kirtle and undersleeves of cream satin." She would wear it with the ruby and pearl pendant he had given her for Christmas. Rubies were the stones of love, pearls symbolised chastity. She was certain that he had not been aware of the symbolism but she appreciated it now.

"You dress like a queen." Anne smiled.

"And what will the future queen herself wear?" Cat asked as she stepped next to her friend to have a look at the many gowns.

"Silver?" Anne asked and pulled at a sleeve. "Or-"

They both looked at a gown made from a dark bluish red velvet, a shade very close to the forbidden purple. Pearls and gold beads adorned the neckline and the undersleeves and kirtle were made of fine cloth of gold that shone even in the dim candlelight of Anne's chamber. In the great hall, Anne would shine as bright as the North Star.

"Or." Cat agreed. The real queen would not attend and Henry would approve of the fitting choice. It was time for Anne to be perceived not as a royal harlot but as the next Queen of England.

* * *

A/N:

Rentoy is a real card game that was played at that time but there were no Hearts, only Clubs, Coins, Goblets and Swords, and let us be honest, that's all rather unromantic, so I changed it.

Colour symbolism: So purple is known as 'the royal colour' but in the late Middle Ages and the Renaissance, it was replaced by blue and red, mostly because the snail that was used to produce the pigments was on the brink of extinction. As far as I know, in France and in England, blue replaced purple in the King's royal mantle, the one he wore for official ceremonies. Different, paler shades of blue were also the colours of marriageable women and servants.  
Purple was still the royal colour though and, according to sumptuary law, a colour that was worn only by members of the royal family (We all remember the great scene in The Tudors where Anne refuses to acknowledge Katherine as her mistress).

Only that much from me, I found it really interesting to see how colour perception changed and how deeply symbolic clothing was back then.

Replies to reviews:

Thank you all for your reviews!

Leefa: Thank you! I'm happy you liked it.

LamAlladin: Thank you! Well, I don't really want to give too much away and I'm not a 100% sure yet but I am not unwilling to save Anne, that sounds so accusing!

TSSKS: Thanks! Yeah, I thought Anne and Cat have their similarities and differences and are close friends and Charles and Henry are the same. Both relationships are somewhat complicated (give me complications, I feed on them!) As for the historical demise, I am really torn still although I have a vague idea what I want to do. Anyway, thank you for your feedback!

princess07890: Thanks! Yeah, I am a sucker for slow builds, I think I have to hurry a bit though because otherwise they'll still be chasing after each other when their grey and toothless.

Unique16: You have no idea how much I actually enjoyed writing that. Some progress finally!

Guest: Yeah, I would really hate him too if he did! Thanks for leaving a review!

xenocanaan: Thank you! Yeah, I don't like writing them apart either, I need the tension^^


	17. Chapter 17

Long chapter this time. Sorry for all the tension, this is such a slow burn, it's almost walking backwards. But we're almost there! (Or, are we?) I might not update for two weeks now because I have exams to study for but most of chapter 18 is already written. I had to weave in the politics in a condensed form, of course the stuff that happened back then was far more complex than my little story.

Thank you all so much for every review, fave and follow, it really makes my day!

* * *

 **early spring, Whitehall Palace**

 **Catherine**

 **~o~**

Catherine finally understood why half the young ladies at court had fallen for Brandon. He was openly pursuing her now and she found it hard to resist. He was charming, witty, courteous and attentive and just audacious enough to make her feel deliciously wicked. When they danced, he looked only at her, forcing her to stare back at him the whole time. His gaze was so intense, so compelling, that she felt dizzy afterwards, as if she had had too much wine. She did not drink wine though, she did not trust herself with it these days. If he was truly only looking for a clandestine _rendezvous_ , she feared the wine would dull her senses and cloud her judgement. Sometimes, after a long volta or an hour alone with him, she already found herself wavering.

He never wrote her poems or composed songs like a conventional suitor would. No, he talked to her, listened to what she said, mocked her gently and laughed at her jests. It felt so authentic, so real, as if he was genuinely interested in her person. No one but perhaps Anne had ever been so attentive, so interested in what she had to say. She was completely flattered and elated until she overheard a conversation between Margery Horsman and Jane Seymour one afternoon, not completely by chance, perhaps. Actually, only Margery talked.

"That's his trick." She whispered very audibly. "He makes you feel as if there was no other woman apart from you, he is close to you without clinging, just close enough. Then he withdraws, only a step, but enough for you to realise you do not want him to leave. Then he comes back and all you can do is say yes to whatever he wants. He chases you like a hunter but he does not shoot the arrow. Instead, he waits, a yard away from you, so that you can make the last step and feel as if you wanted it all along."

Margery Horsman hit suspiciously close to the mark. She pretended not to listen but found it hard not to think about the other maid's words. Perhaps she was right after all and it was only his trick. Was it not rather vain of her to think that she, Catherine, was the only woman Brandon was seriously interested in? Especially regarding their history. No, in all brutal honesty, she was probably only one of many does before the hunter. But even if. She could not stop now. She would not let him shoot the arrow, but she was enjoying being hunted in all truth. Just because she did not like the destination he had in mind, the journey was still exciting. She would just have to remember to stop in the right moment.

"Dreaming, my lady?" Brandon had approached silently or perhaps she had just been too engrossed in her doubts. He touched her arm above the elbow, where the material of her sleeves was thin and the warmth of his hand remembered her of the way his fingers had felt on her bare skin.

"Perhaps." She rose to walk with him. "Though of what, I may not say."

"What is the point of secret dreams when you do not share them with anyone?"

"Why, enjoying the curiosity of others." The day was bright and clear, but still rather cold. After weeks in the rooms of the palace, that grew stuffier with every passing day, she was longing to go outside.

"Shall we take a walk outside, my lady?" He asked her as if he had read her thoughts. "Perhaps I can persuade you to tell me your secret in the gardens, with no one else around."

Somehow, as if accidentally, he had managed to lead her to the old part of the house where the corridors were narrow and the doors even narrower. In such a narrow door, he stopped, only an inch of stale air between them. He stooped because of the low frame. She knew that he used the word 'persuade' to remind her of their deal, that he stressed the intimacy of the gardens to excite her- but all her knowledge of his tricks did not stop her heart from racing and her chest from heaving. Neither did it stop her mind from imagining all sorts of things. Things a lady should never think about.

"If you think you are more successful in persuading me outside, we can." She smiled. "Perhaps you are at an end and the change of location is a desperate last try." Cat stepped out of the door frame, brought two steps between them.

"You pretend to be a little ice princess, but you are not, are you? In truth, inside, you are burning." The word sounded like a inappropriate promise. "A little fiery queen."

She swallowed. "And I truly thought you did not have it in you to be a poet." Cat tried to take another step backwards but behind her, there was only wall.

He grinned wolfishly. "You see now to which lengths I go to persuade you."

"Go farther." She smiled. "Or become a better poet." And with a twirl of her skirts, she escaped his loose grip, positioned herself in the middle of the corridor an arm's length away from him.

"At the main portal in an hour." An hour she would need to talk to Anne.

"Will you dream in the meantime?"

She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. _Damn him_.

"No. Will you?" After a last promising smile, she hurried away, her skirts rustling around her feet. He kept her in a constant state of exhilaration and she could not help but marvel at their development. First, they had hated each other fiercely. Then, after he had saved her life, they had been civil, friendly, almost close. And now this...it was a bit of both, the excitement of their first stage combined with the trust and affection of the second. Well, at least for her. Whether he felt affection for her at all, she could not say. She only hoped so.

Anne was in her chambers, ill-humoured despite her many servants and the beautiful song Mark was playing.

"Cat!" Her friend rose from the cushioned chair and took Cat by the hands to pull her onto a window seat where they were relatively safe from prying eyes and ears. "Oh, really, I am bored. Father and George are in France and half my maids are ill. The other half is insipid."

Many at court were ill these days, the weather was relatively mild but wet and the change from the dry cold earlier in the year seemed to have affected many. The king himself complained about headaches and yesterday, he had withdrawn to his chambers just after dinner and only Anne had been allowed to go with him. Today, he was slightly better and used the day for had still not made his decision but his envoys in Germany had sent word. The German dukes were mostly Lutheran and would not oppose Henry should he decide to break with Rome. The seed Anne had planted had flourished and blossomed and now, Henry seemed to seriously consider deserting the Pope. Campeggio had no idea or he would have put in more effort. The old man was certainly not as fragile as he pretended to be and his tentative and cautious behaviour showed that once again, Rome believed itself invincible, despite the Emperor's attack and despite the unruly North. Clement was still the Emperor's creature, instead of trying to make new allies and sway Henry and thereby his new brother, Francis I., to his side, the old man tarried- and right now, Anne's father and brother were breaking fast with the king and queen of France, approaching the subject with diplomatic tentativeness while not leaving Francis in doubt that backing Henry and Anne's marriage and their possible breach with Rome would win him a powerful ally against Emperor Charles who was once again trying to snatch away Southern French territory.

Nothing was really going Anne's way but she had more than cause to hope- Yet, after years and years of hope and disappointment, she was perhaps sick of that fickle friend hope.

"Has your father sent word?" Catherine asked.

"Yes. Francis is pleased. He knows we are friends of France and has hinted at an agreement. Yet, not more than that, and the French king is a great friend of empty promises."

Anne leant against the whitewashed wall.

"I am so impatient. I am tied down here, in these chambers, that are neither a commoner's nor a queen's, neither a girl's nor a woman's. I am his maiden-wife, cursed to forever linger in this state that is in-between, neither this nor that, forever hoping to take the next step. Jesu Maria, I sometimes wish he would just cast me down again. It was easier."

"You do not mean that, Anne." Catherine laid a hand on hers. "Just think how much you must mean to him that he waits for you this long time. How much he respects you."

Anne's gaze softened. "No. You are right, I do not mean it." She lowered her voice. "Heavens, I cannot live without him. But I cannot continue like this either. For him, it is inconvenient. He could have a son by now, a wife he loves...but for me, I am in limbo between everything and nothing. And I cannot live with this suspense any longer."

Catherine understood. She had felt similar in Kelmscott, her tiny country manor, such a long time ago.

"It is not for long now, Anne."

"I already thought so years ago." She rubbed the bridge of her nose with irritation.

"Ah, there is no use in talking of it. It will not make the old man hurry. I fear not even Death himself could, even if He urged him to make a decision with his scythe, Campeggio would still tarry. What about Brandon, Cat? Has he proved less of a disappointment than all other men these days?- Ah, I see not. Constancy is men's only value then."

"I still don't know what he wants." Catherine admitted. "Sometimes I feel like he might be interested- but then again, perhaps that is just his charms."

Anne hesitated a long moment. "Well, Henry said-" She stopped abruptly, turned to hide her face. "Have you seen my red embroidery silk? I am certain I left it here on the window seat."

"Nan? What did the king say? About Brandon?"

"Oh, I may not tell you, Cat. I'm sure he wouldn't-"

"I'm your friend, Anne. Tell me!"

"No, really", Anne insisted.

Cat should have said "It's quite alright, he is nothing to me anyway. Do you want to play a game of cards?" She should not have shown how much she cared. But she cared too much to hide her feelings.

"Anne, I beseech you!"

Reluctantly, Anne started to speak, her dark gaze fixed on Cat's face. "Well, well...because you are my closest friend. But don't tell anyone, you must swear it. Well, the king, he said that Brandon is mad in love with you. He only talks about you, has not been with another woman in years. No other lady can compare to you in his eyes."

Her words sunk in and suddenly. Cat felt the urge to giggle. An irresistible urge. The bubbly feeling in her stomach was almost too much to bear. "Oh, Anne-"

"Shht. Don't. I may not tell you! And now stop doubting yourself. Encourage him."

 **~o~**

 **Charles**

 **~o~**

One evening, in the king's chamber, over a game of chess Charles was about to lose, Henry took up the white queen, lost in thoughts.

"Your Majesty?" Charles did not mind to end it here but it was not like Henry not to savour his triumph.

"Tell me, how fares Lady Catherine?"

He knew. Charles could see it from the way the king hid a grin. This was his triumph, not the figures on the board.

"Well, I imagine." He was constantly thinking about their little game, about that moment in the dusty niche, how close she had been, her smell. Henry had seen him during the game and apparently he had been far more attentive than he had seemed.

"So you think about her wellbeing a lot?" Henry laughed. "Oh, I am hurt, Charles. You should have told me right away. I did not know that you are capable of caring so deeply for someone who is not your sovereign." He grinned.

"Neither did I." Charles admitted.

"So is it truly that bad? You are utterly in love with little Catherine Stafford." Charles did not know what was so funny about that.

"She is not so little."

"Young and sweet and innocent. You might ruin her." Henry said with an earnest face, only to laugh again. "Oh, come Charles. have I not hinted at it several times? What do you think why I made her your ward? A girl, young, wealthy, and pretty, I was certain you'd have married her by winter. And now, years later, you are sitting here, hesitating like a maiden who is in love for the first time."

In a way, Charles was in love for the first time.

"You used to be a ladies' man, Charles. What happened to you?"

So Charles explained. Everything. Henry stayed silent throughout most of his monologue but when Charles mentioned Christmas, the king interrupted with a laugh: "She kissed you and you did _nothing_?"

Yes, he already knew how foolish that had been. He did not need a reminder.

"She has made a puppy out of a hunting dog." Henry grinned. "But does she know it?"

"She does not and she will never. Promise me that much, Your Majesty. She may never know."

"I will never tell her." Henry promised.

"Or the Lady Anne." Charles added.

"Or her."

But the smile that grazed the king's lips was an entirely different promise.

~o~

Henry enquired about her more often now. About their game and interactions.

Charles was still no step further. He was more in love than before though, unfortunately. He had hoped he could seduce her the usual way but half the time, he did not even know what exactly he was saying and the other half, he found himself so engrossed in their conversation that he forgot that he was supposed to flirt. She on the other hand was tempting and teasing him all the time, driving him half mad.

"This is only a game for her." He complained to his friend one evening. "She would never consider me. I am too low born, not accomplished enough for her."

"She kissed you." Henry pointed out but by now, Charles was certain that it had been the wine.

"She had too much wine that evening. She never tried to do it again. She treats me like a… like a friend. Like an uncle."

Henry looked at him. " "She never tried to do it again'? You cannot be serious, Charles. She is a lady. Oh, God, what happened to you? You are wailing like a washerwoman."

The king turned away, something was clearly bothering him.

"What is it?"

"Well, the Lady Anne said…"

Normally, Charles didn't give half a penny for what Lady Anne said, but now, he was all ears.

"What did she say? About Catherine?"

Henry looked uncomfortable. "You know that I shouldn't tell you, Charles. The two talked in secret, women's talk, you know-"

Charles should have pretended not to care that much anyway. Should have talked about tennis instead or the hunt. But his pride did not matter. Not when she was concerned.

"Your Majesty, please." He sounded like a beggar on Shrove Tuesday.

Henry looked at him for a long, tense moment. Then he sighed. "Because you are my oldest and closest friend. But if word ever reaches her...you know how women are. I promise you-"

"I won't say a word to anyone." He promised, eager to hear what the king had to say about her.

"Well-" Henry was clearly still uncomfortable. "Lady Anne said that Lady Catherine never stops talking about you. How she thinks you don't care about her. How much she risked by kissing you and you did nothing -Truly, Charles, that was foolish- How much she enjoys that little game of yours but fears she is only another one of your conquests."

Charles was amazed.

"She thinks she is just one of many?" How could she? "She is the only one for whom I have-"

Henry raised his hand. "Not again. You have been telling me that for hours now." He grinned. "Tell her."

Charles' heart sank. Had Lady Anne told the truth?

Henry interrupted his thoughts, thankfully: "Now, tennis, bowling or riding? We need to take your mind off of our sweet Catherine for a while."

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**

 **~o~**

Weeks went by and stretched to months and the game did not cease to excite her. The whole court was aware of what was going on now but it did not matter. From time to time, she still flirted with other men in a courtly way as custom decreed and praised Sir Francis Bryan's passionate sonnets for her. Brandon had not been pleased: "If you want poems, Madam, you should play with a poet, not me."

Cat could not bear it if he was angry with her, so she found a way to propitiate the evening, for the dance, she chose a gown of light green satin, with sparkling amethysts sewn onto the bodice and dangling from her ears and neck.

In the great hall, she refused to dance until she finally found him, standing in a corner ill-humoured, a goblet in his hand and his eyes on the dancing.

She approached him quickly and was there before he could flee. His eyes dropped to the amethysts for a brief moment only.

"Never dare to come too close", she warned him.

He stared at her with confusion but then, suddenly, understanding brightened his features.

"My lady Thistle?" He smiled. "A fitting dress." Again, he looked at the amethysts that adorned the neckline.

"You should wear black and yellow stripes, Your Grace." She replied. He grinned. She had successfully lifted his spirits. "But then, what is the prickly thistle to the bee?"

Now, he laughed. "Yes, I really wanted to be reminded of that poem."

"You said if I want poems, I should play with a poet. I do."

"I am not sure Petrarch would agree." He said but took her hand without asking and lead her to a dimly lit corner of the dancefloor, a corner hidden from view by other couples.

"Pay attention, Your Grace, you never know where these thorns are hiding", she warned him.

"Isn't that what makes it so exciting? I think I'll risk it."

And he pulled her so close that she no longer felt as if she was the one seducing him.

"I have been wrong." He whispered into her ear. "Every man prefers the moon to the garish sun. After all, the night is my favourite time of the day."

Heat rose to her cheek and her heart fluttered. This man-

"I think scholars disagree whether the night is a part of the day or its opposite." She muttered, cursing herself for her idiocy. But he made her words a metaphor.

"Whether night and day are partners or opposites, I do not care. Opposites attract and partners…" He smiled. "You were in France, my lady, I need not tell you."

She stepped on his foot on purpose and he laughed.

"If you try to hurt me, my lady, believe me, there a hundred better ways. I barely felt the touch of your foot."

Catherine took a step backwards and Brandon stayed, his eyes on her as if the rest of the hall was empty.

"I will chase you, little wildcat." He said, his voice low, a smile still playing on his lips. Then, with one quick step, he closed the distance between them, stood in front of her so close that she had to tilt her head backwards to look him in the eye. But he did not touch her.

"You are an experienced hunter, I know." She smiled. "But have you ever chased a cat?"

He did not laugh. "Never."

"You might find it a difficult task."

"I do. Very difficult. But the best hunts always are." Now he grinned wolfishly. "You are intoxicating, Catherine."

She did not know what to say. Her breath was too quick, her heartbeat too fast. If he had kissed her now, she would not have resisted. Their game would be over then, though. He did not kiss her. Instead, he stared at her mouth for a long while, his eyes dark and deep. Then he smiled.

"I am enjoying this game far too much." He whispered into her ear, his right hand brushed against her neck, a single finger travelled to her collarbone and traced the silver chain of her necklace almost to her neckline. She did nothing to stop him. He stopped an inch above the fabric of her dress, his fingers trembled and she felt a slight stab of disappointment.

"But maybe you are, too?"

Brandon gave her no chance to reply, left the hall before she managed to think of something. _Bastard._ Cat thought but the smile remained on her lips even an hour later.

~o~

Cat was supposed to meet Brandon at the portal but she was about to get ready when she heard that Wiltshire and Rochford had arrived from France earlier. Only a minute later, a page asked her to go and see the Lady Anne in her rooms. Catherine knew she would be late then but Anne's fate depended on the King of France. She had to know what was going on. Certainly, Brandon was in talks with the king anyway.

She found Anne composed but optimistic, though doubts were still nagging her.

Francis has assured his beloved brother of his support and loyalty. Had said that the Pope was biased because of the Emperor and that Henry could always count on his brother France against the Spaniards. He had showered Anne's father and brother with gifts, had sent jewels and letters to Anne and Henry. In his letter to Anne, he revealed that he would support her and Henry's match, firstly because he found Katherine a threat to the Tudor line and Franco-English peace, secondly because he knew Anne was a friend of the French.

"But Anne, this is great news!" Cat exclaimed after reading the full letter.

"Is it? So, as long as France and Spain are in conflict, he supports Henry. But what if the Emperor decides that he would much rather be at peace with France?"

"Nan, he will not make peace with France. The upheaval in Flanders, Francis' involvement with the Ottomans, the sorry affair with Gascony. As long as Charles is trying to steal a whole County, Francis will not agree to have peace, not with Henry so strong at his side and depending on him."

Anne shook her head. "Yes. I am aware of that. Still, I like it not. We need more security."

"What do the German scholars say?"

"A new priest has come to court, a Thomas Cranmer who has studied on the continent. He is now my father's chaplain and I might make him mine, too. He says that most of the German princes support the king and his cause, as well as a potential breach with Rome."

"All will be well. Nothing will stand in the king's way and if someone does, he will just push the obstacle out of his way. You know how he is."

Anne smiled. "Yes. I know. I just wish it would all be sooner. It might still be months, a year, or two!"

"No. And even if: He has waited this long, he would wait for you until the last day, you know he would."

"Yes." Her smile intensified. "I know."

Cat arrived at the portal breathless and ten minutes too late but he was still there. His face lit up when he saw her and her heart fluttered. No, this was not an act.

"Forgive me." She said, smoothing out her skirts that were crinkled from running. Certainly her hair was a mess, too. She had swapped the hood for an outdoor hat and she feared that half her hair was already hanging out of the hairnet.

"Have you run all the way from your chambers?" He asked laughing and raised his hand, apparently to tuck a few strands back in but despite his experience with women, hairnets were apparently not his strong point and she felt her hair coming down.

"Oh." He held a hairpin in his fingers. "I think this one was quite important."

She had to laugh. "Yes, that one attached the net to the hat."

Slowly, he ran his fingers through her hair, smoothed it out over her back. She felt the urge to close her eyes and purr like a cat.

"It looks better this way anyway." He said and wrapped a curl around his finger.

Then he raised it to his lips, kissed it softly and let it fall.

"Shall we?"

She took his arm, her fingers lay on his sleeve but she tried to keep her touch soft.

"I can barely feel your hand." He said and closed his fingers around hers. He did not wear gloves, only a feathered beret and a cape of dark green velvet, fastened with an intricate golden brooch. The feeling of his skin on hers never failed to excite her.

They walked to the far end of the garden, talking about arts this time. They often agreed when it came to style but not today.

"The Italian style of oil painting is too bright for my taste. The Flemish school is far more realistic." Catherine said.

"Realistic, yes. And for portraits, I agree that perhaps the Flemish style is better suited. But for landscapes, the Italian school exceeds all others. I am fond of the French technique as well but there is nothing like the Italian. Strong colours and bold lines. They are not afraid to make the world brighter and better."

"I was not aware you were a reformer." She smiled.

"There are a few things you do not know about me." He had stopped walking. They were standing in a limetree's shadow.

"Will you share your secrets with me, Your Grace?"

"No." He grinned now. "You have to persuade me." He still held her hand in his.

Emboldened by his behaviour and hidden from prying eyes, her other hand found its way to the front of his doublet.

"You cannot change the rules in the middle of the game, Your Grace", she whispered.

"In the middle? And here I am hoping that I had already made it a bit further. Have I not managed to persuade you yet, little wildcat?" He did not smile. His eyes were dark again, despite the bright sun.

Did she want this to end? No. But the tension between them was almost unbearable and he took up so much of her time and thoughts that it was perhaps about time to give in and see what happened afterwards.

Cat was about to say yes when behind Brandon, only twenty yards away, Anne appeared, apparently furious. She still wore the gown she had worn in the morning, her hood was tilted and loose strands of hair were hanging out. Something had happened.

Brandon had noticed that she was distracted and turned around. He groaned in dispapointment when he saw Anne.

"You don't have to go", he murmured and she could feel his breath against her lips, so close was he. He smelled of mint and rosemary.

"Of course I do." She pulled away from him, smiling apologetically. She was disappointed...but also delighted to draw out the game even more. The longer it took, the better.

He let her go without complaint and somehow she felt that he thought the same.

"We will go riding tomorrow." He said when she was already several steps away. "I hope your horse is fast."

She turned around, took her time to reply, allowed him to take in her in her dishevelled state.

"I hope it is not fast enough." She said then, relished his surprise and then hurried over to Anne. On her way, she risked a look over her shoulder. He still stood where she had left him, his arms limp at his sides, his gaze fixed on her. She could feel it burning in her back all the way to the castle.

~o~

Anne was shaking with anger, her face was stonestill in her fury. "Nothing!" She exclaimed once they had reached the secludedness of her chambers. "The old man has done nothing. Wolsey has fed him and charmed him, but it was not good enough. Clement will not grant Henry the annulment. Instead, he has offered to grant a dispensation for a marriage between that pale little girl, Mary, and the King's natural son. He would grant a dispensation for a marriage between _half siblings_ but he will not grant Henry the annulment that is his right and duty according to Leviticus. Who is the Pope, to make amendments to the holy book itself?"

The successor of St. Peter on earth and by the laws of the holy book in no position to wield as much power as he did.

Catherine knew that Anne would need to vent her anger. She was too much like her royal lover in that respect. And Henry's and Anne's wrath combined would hit the supposed culprit hard. Wolsey was not Cat's friend and she had still not forgiven him for his role in her family's downfall. But she had been taught forgiveness by her mother, whenever Mary had been mischievous or Margaret had angered her: "An eye for an eye will turn the whole world blind, Catie. True forgiveness will lighten your own heart, you will see." Catherine was not ready to truly forgive him, no matter how light it would make her heart. No, Wolsey had to pay. _Forgive me, mother._ But she did not want the man's blood on her hands. He had lost all his influence at court, was reduced to a beggar in red robes. If she could decide, he would be sent to York, to his diocese, to live a godly life. The life he had never led before.

But for Anne, disgrace was only the first step on the ladder of revenge. And unfortunately, many at court agreed, amongst them Norfolk and Brandon. Brandon who had every reason to thank the Cardinal, who had once interceded on his behalf, now turned against the old man for his haughtiness and pride and some harsh words that had fallen between them like blows.

Their little game seemed to have ended without a winner because the Duke barely left the king's rooms these days. Anne was there, too, and once or twice, the king invited Cat as well, as she was Buckingham's only independent heir. He seemed to have conveniently forgotten his own part in her father's execution but Cat knew better than to remind him. If the king wanted to blame Wolsey for all his crimes, fair enough. A scapegoat was desperately needed to explain why the Pope would not grant Henry's wish and Wolsey was important and unpopular enough to be an exceptional scapegoat.

Catherine remained quiet while Anne asked for an execution heatedly, while the great dukes joined her. Perhaps this was all Wolsey had done back then as well. Stayed quiet and accepted her father's fate. Still, would she then not be as guilty as the others?

"Your Majesty." She spoke up finally, uncomfortable with her position at this political table where she was surrounded by friends and enemies who were all bound to disagree with her. The king was still hesitant though, he did not truly want to end his old friend's life. He looked to Cat with a childish hope. "Yes, Lady Catherine?"

"His Eminency has certainly erred and is no doubt responsible for the outcome of the annulment negotiations. And yet, he has done much for Your Majesty ...and for others." She looked at Brandon directly and he had the decency to shrink under her gaze. "Yes, his time at court is certainly over after his failure. But I think you would be well-advised to be merciful. He has been loyal to you for decades and has supported you from early on, Your Majesty. Does an old servant not deserve some mercy, some forgiveness?"

Henry looked at her for a long moment. Anne did, too, and Brandon. Thomas More nodded, smiling. Old Norfolk looked as if he had just bitten into a Spanish lemon. Wiltshire and Rochford, Anne's family, stared at her with acid on their gazes.

But then the king nodded. "Yes. Thomas here thinks the same." He patted Sir Thomas's sleeve. "You are right. He is a friend that has failed me, but still a friend. He will withdraw to York, sweetheart." He tried to appease Anne now. "He will no longer be Archbishop of Canterbury. He can stay a Cardinal for all I care. He will no longer be welcome at court, I promise. But he deserves mercy, he is a man of God after all."

Indeed, the man was so godly that he has fathered two children on his housekeeper. But Cat let it slip. Henry needed an excuse to spare him. Anne was so powerful that even the king found excuses to appease her. She had truly risen high.

"Well, do as you will, Your Majesty." Anne said, her speech clipped, then she rose from her chair without another word to Catherine. Her family followed on her heel but Cat did not. She wandered the corridors alone. In the queen's chambers, she was on sufferance but not welcome. And she doubted very much that Anne would welcome her right now. And yet, she was content. Perhaps she had just saved the man that had condemned her father. Certainly, she had saved the man that had done nothing to save her father. But it felt right. If Wolsey did not deserve the king's mercy, no one did. Anne would do well to remember that in her fiery hatred.

"That was brave." Brandon stood in her way and she knew that this was not part of the game.

"It was right." She replied, tried to walk past him but he did not let her.

"You think me a spineless opportunist."

"No."

"An ungrateful opportunist then." He smiled but it had nothing of his charm and much of bitterness.

"Ungrateful perhaps. Not an opportunist. As far as I know, you have never been Wolsey's friend-"

"Though I had every reason to be grateful, you think. Yes, he convinced the king to spare me back then. And I paid him back, believe me. I do not like being in his debt. Why do you think did the king write to the Pope on Wolsey's behalf to make him a Cardinal? Who do you think funded that great feast of cloth of gold and painted canvas? I paid him back. I did." Now he gritted his teeth. "That butcher priest does not deserve it, certainly, for he did not help me out of benevolence or Christian charity. He helped me not at all, in truth, only Mary Tudor, Dowager Queen of France and Princess of England. Now, there was someone he could use. And that soldier that she had decided to marry could be tolerated, he found. It was unfortunate, she would have made a good pawn on his chess board, but no doubt he hoped I would die early and heroically in one of his many wars. I disappointed him, not only in that respect. But I do not owe him anything anymore. So do not look at me like that, do not condemn me, judge me-"

"But I don't." She replied. "I think it would be wiser if Wolsey was spared. I think an old friend deserves some leniency. My words had nothing to do with you. I do not judge you." Cat swallowed. "I think it is your own bad conscience judging you."

Again, the duke's fists clenched in anger. "I do not-" He started.

"You are trying to justify your actions but I do not judge you. Everything you said is the truth, I am certain. Wolsey was never known as a charitable man and everything he did, he did for either the king or for himself. You do not owe him anything. But why do you want to have his blood on your hands so desperately? Are you scared of him? Does his death help you in some way? Or is it pure hatred that lights the way for you?"

For a moment, a brief moment, she thought he might slap her. Of course he didn't.

"All of that, Catherine." he said. Then he laughed cruelly. "You should give the same bitter medicine to your friend. God, the truth is a bitter draught. Yes. I hate him because I feel like I still owe him, despite everything. Are you satisfied now?"

"No."

"No." He rubbed his eyes. "Of course not."

"Of course not." He repeated. " Perhaps you are far wiser than all of us. Or perhaps far more foolish. Wolsey was the one who orchestrated your father's death and your family's downfall, you certainly know. He did not want you back at court, yes, Wolsey would still have you rotting in Oxfordshire. He never did you any good, and still, you play archangel and try to save him."

She felt as if he had punched her in the stomach. "He has no reason to hate me-" she started but Brandon shook his head.  
"No reason, no? You are the descendent of Edward III and God knows how many other kings. Your father had to die because of that. You were not supposed to remind everyone that there are still others with royal blood in their veins."

"Why do you tell me that?"

"Because I am angry." He admitted. "Because your forgiveness and mercy makes me feel like a villain. And because you deserve to know all this before you intercede on his behalf."

Catherine had to think about his words carefully. Yes, deep down, she had always known that Wolsey was not innocent, that he loathed her and her family- but that still meant nothing.

"I am not a murderer." She replied. "I am not God, so I cannot say he deserves death. I do not forgive him for his crimes. But his death would not please me."

Brandon snorted. "God knows, it would please me. Your father died well, bravely and with dignity."

"I know."

"Do you not think Wolsey should kneel on the same scaffold?"

"And what about you? Did you do anything to save my father? And Norfolk. And the king. Shall I want you all dead now? I don't. My father did not deserve to die. But he was foolish enough not to see the threat. He was foolish enough to be a blustering oaf and too proud. I mourn him but I understand the king's decision. I even understand you. Why do you want me to hate Wolsey?"

He did not reply to that for a long moment.

"Perhaps because that would be vindication for me."

Suddenly, his angry gaze softened. "Forgive me. I assaulted you because I am desperate for your acceptance. I should not have said any of this." He smiled. "It is true, sometimes I don't really think."

"I understand your position." She assured him. "Mine is just different."

He nodded, slowly. "It is...and for now, it seems you have convinced the king. But the Lady Anne will not give up, Norfolk will never give up. And constant dripping will wear away the stone."

That was true. Anne would not give up… and surely, at the moment, Cat was not really in her good books. Their friendship would overcome this blow, certainly. But Anne perceived Wolsey as her archenemy...and Cat was sure it would take her a long time to forgive and an even longer time to forget. The Boleyns never forgot a slight. But then again, now, Anne needed a friend even more than ever before. Rome had failed her and her dreams and plans were thwarted. Although she was certainly not happy with Cat's intercession on the Cardinal's behalf, she would perhaps have to overlook it. Tomorrow, Cat would visit her in her grand empty chambers. Cat had no hard feelings. She knew that Anne was neither forgiving nor merciful when it came to her enemies. And Cat understood better than anyone else on the face of the earth why Anne hated Wolsey so much. He had buried her first love and the Cardinal's remark still stung. Wolsey had no reason to be relieved. Anne would dig his grave and all the great lords of the kingdom would happily assist her. Wolsey had only one staunch friend in the whole of England, and friends with crowns were often fickle. Thomas More would try to help him out of piety and benevolence but even he had criticised the Cardinal that lived such a worldly life.

Wolsey's time was up.

* * *

Thank you to everyone who took the time to leave a comment! They never cease to make me smile.

Replies to reviews:

xenocanaan: Thank you so much for your continuous feedback!

princess07890: Yes! Just that! An explosion. Anger wouldn't be super fun to write anyway, and a bit unanticipated in a love story. I'm all for a passionate explosion ;) Thank you for your comment!

Guest1: Yes, I like writing Anne as a friend, too, she is often only considered Henry's mistress but there is just so much more to her. She wrote this super touching dedication in her prayer book for lady Margaret Lee. "Remember me when you do pray, that hope doth lead from day to day." I find that so touching! And I agree, it would be very sad.

Unique16: Thank you!

Lady-Finwe: Oh, it will get very juicy indeed!

guest2: And here it comes ;)


	18. Chapter 18

A/ N: Can you smell the salt on the air? That's my tears because my slow burn is coming to an end (Slowly, of course, how else? Wisely and slow, they stumble that run fast).

But I am already looking forward to the trials they might face as a couple (yeah, courtly life in Renaissance England was no piece of cake) and of course Anne and Henry's relationship and the course of history… or what I'll make of it.

These two replies before the chapter, as they concern historical facts:

 **ChildofDreams** , thank you for your comment! It was actually Edward III but therefore also Edward II, so we're both right ;)

Eleanor Percy (Cat's mother) was a descendent of Joan Beaufort, herself a daughter of John of Gaunt, the third son of Edward III and his mistress-later-wife, Katherine Swynford. Edward Stafford was a descendent of both the same Joan Beaufort and John Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, a son of John of Gaunt and Katherine Swynford and therefore Joan's brother. Weird, right? I wonder how many Papal dispensations that family needed! Catherine was her own cousin.

A **Guest** asked whether the Pope really offered a dispensation for Henry Fitzroy and Mary Tudor:  
Well, it's a bit tricky. It is stated in a lot of modern biographies, amongst others, Alison Weir, Herbert Tree and Albert Pollard stated it in their books about Henry or Anne (admittedly all popular historiography). I have read it quite a few times in different books, so I did some research a while ago. My sources were my small collection of books on the matter, the university library and the internet though and I only found a primary source by Nicholas Sanders, the guy who said Anne had a wen the size of a chicken egg...Yep. But he was a staunch Catholic and had therefore no interest in denouncing the Pope. He cites letters by Clement to Reginald Pole as his source and I am inclined to believe him in this as the letters are known to other scholars as well. I probably wouldn't cite Sanders in a paper though. So I just thought it made for a more shocking contrast but I would never put that in a proper book/ paper, unless you mention that Sanders is not exactly a reliable source.

Thank you for your review, I love going into this. It just show how little we know and how much influence only one account can have. And I agree, forgiveness and a softer side would have helped Anne and might have saved her...but alas, a leopard can't change its spots.

Anyway, here you go! I didn't proofread as much as I wanted to, so if there's anything, please, feel free to leave a review- feel free to leave a review even if you don't fnd any mistakes of course! Thank you very much.

* * *

 **Whitehall Palace, Late Spring**

 **Catherine**

 **~o~**

Vincit Anna Bolena. That was the motto at court these days it seemed. Whatever Anne wanted happened, and no one, not even the king, dared to stand in her way. Henry arrested his old friend half-heartedly, only to release him again. Then he stripped him of all titles and government offices after talking to his council and his sweetheart.

And, as surprisingly as he had stripped Wolsey of his titles after his release, did Henry allow him to keep the title of Archbishop of York and withdraw to the diocese for the rest of his life. Cardinal Wolsey left for Yorkshire in disgrace but alive, though not healthy. All the way to Cambridge, he was followed by London people who threw rotting apples and foul eggs at the priest that had done so much for their king and so little for them.

"Your Majesty, he has deliberately thwarted your plans. He has been more hindrance than help in your negotiations with Rome. The man is a traitor and he got a kinder fate than he deserves."

Anne had not given up. Neither had her allies. Half the court came out of the woodwork to support Lady Anne against the butcher's boy that had dared to rise above them. And Henry was like a nutshell in a wild sea: One wave took hold of him, then another, tossed him to one side, then to the other. His own conscience seemed to be fighting against his will to please Anne, his desire to punish someone for the disappointing outcome of the talks and the necessity to present a scapegoat to make sure that no one doubted the illegitimacy of Henry and Katherine's marriage.

In the end, the king made a decision, swayed by more than just Anne. Cat prayed for the ungodly priest and yet, she had done all she could. Wolsey would die. She pitied him and she had not wished for this outcome but the whole court was against him by now: Those of the old blood had always resented him, those who had less prestigious family trees had often relied on Thomas Wolsey to help them to some office or position at court. Yet, the Cardinal had never had many friends but one and that one friend had deserted him. The court was merry in those days, utterly without control as both the Queen and the Cardinal were absent. The Queen was still in her rooms and dined with the king on sundays, when the people of London came to watch- but she was never present for the feasts and games that became more and more frequent with rising temperatures.

A few days after Cat had spoken up for Wolsey, Anne came to her chambers. She had not called for Catherine at all the past week, so it came as quite a surprise.

"My father says I should send you back to Oxfordshire." She said. "And uncle Norfolk wants to see you up on the scaffold next to Wolsey, judging by the way he talks about you."

Cat had to smile. Yes, the old duke was not the forgiving sort.

"And what do you want, Nan?"

Anne smiled at the old nickname. "I want my friend back."

"I was never gone," Catherine insisted.

"You have not come to my chambers this whole week," Anne complained but she took her old seat by the window.

"I am aware that I am currently not welcome. Your whole faction is against me in this," Cat pointed out, although Anne was of course aware.

"They will turn against me as soon as the king wavers in his affection for me," Her friend conceded. "You would never."

"No." That was the truth. With her dying breath she would fight for Anne.

Anne took her reassurance with a warm smile but it wavered only a moment after: "I still want him to pay."

"I still think you are too harsh."

Anne laughed.

"You will never agree with me, simply because I am now so influential, will you?"

"My opinion does not change depending on your position, Anne."

"You should have married Thomas More, Cat. Really, he'd be a far more fitting match than the-"

She did not finish the sentence because Catherine threw a pillow at her and Anne raised her arms to shield her face.

"You are a wildcat," She grinned. "Do you not want to ask how the duke fares?"

Cat grinned back. Incidentally, she knew how the duke fared. She had spent the whole week with him. Torn between returning to Katherine for good and staying in Anne's chambers, surrounded by enemies, she had chosen to do neither. As always, she spent some time in the old Queen's rooms to do what she was paid for, helped her dress and prayed with her, was a conscientious maid of honour. But the warmth between her and her queen was long lost beyond recovery and Catherine still supported Anne. Katherine had no son and while that was not her fault, England needed a prince. Mary was frail and often ill and there had been too many wars in the recent past. Another civil war would destroy the country and allow the French to swallow England whole.

Brandon had reluctantly agreed with her when they had taken a walk through the park. He had not changed his opinion on Wolsey but they did not discuss this matter. Despite their frequent meetings, Wolsey was still between them, his shadow as nagging as Mary's and the Queen of France's. Cat would do something about it once the whole affair was over. Half the court looked forward to the execution with perverse pleasure but Anne did not. Anne had already exerted her revenge, unbeknownst to anyone but Cat.

Anne had chosen the envoy that had handed Wolsey the royal decree that was his death sentence and her choice had been her final triumph, far more meaningful than ink on paper: Henry Percy, the man she had once loved almost as fiercely as now the king, delivered the royal warrant to Cawood in North Yorkshire and told the old Cardinal that the time of vengeance had come. Wolsey would never see his diocese York.

The Cardinal disappointed half the court by dying on the way and his last words, or what his chaplain Bonner passed on as his last words, caused quite a stir at court: "I see the matter against me how it is framed. But if I had served God as diligently as I have done the King, he would not have given me over in my grey hairs." Of course everyone was careful to never let these words reach the king's ear but whether that was successful, Cat did not know.

The king was pleased though: Even with his death, Wolsey had served him. This way, Henry did not have to execute one of his closest friends and he chose to ignore the fact that it had probably been his brief incarceration and fear that had led to the deterioration of the Cardinal's health that was normally quite robust. He had survived several attacks of the Sweating Sickness...but not the attack of his own king.

Henry lost no time to make More Lord Chancellor - and he would have made Brandon President of the Council, had Norfolk, Anne's uncle, not objected. Certainly, old Howard had not planned to share the office but that was Henry's wish. So instead of pushing Brandon off his chair, he had installed him firmly on one half. Neither of both dukes was satisfied with the solution, their plain dislike for each other did not exactly lighten the mood at council meetings, but Brandon could afford to be generous: As Lord High Steward, he still wielded far more influence than the other duke.

Cat was excited to see him for the first time since he had been raised to the office: THe council had much to talk about and Brandon had chosen not to appear at the festivities in the evening. Today though, there was a masque and Henry would be very cross if his friend decided not to attend. It was a Greek play, the sea nymphs were held captive on an island and were then freed by Greek heroes and then the dinner would start. After the dinner would follow a ball. The costumes for the nymphs were not as decent as the would have been under Queen Katherine's sharp eyes: Seagreen gowns made of a thin silk fabric, with undersleeves of transparent white lace and pearls sewn onto the bodice and skirt. After a brief look at the other maids, she thought they looked like waves, which was probably the intention but still looked a bit silly. The gown was beautifully cut though, although the neckline was a bit too low and her shoulders a bit too bare, but with a few scraps of lace and white silk, she would perhaps be able to transform this gown into a day dress.

Anne entered. Her gown was pure white, but thousands of emeralds were embroidered onto it to create a reverse colour effect that made her stand out even more. She shook her long dark hair and allowed the seamstress to secure a tiara of emeralds and silver on her part.

Everyone else wore pearl headpieces.

"I can almost feel the spray on my skin." She grinned at Cat. They had decided to leave their fight behind them and Anne had grown significantly colder towards her uncle, especially after he had used her to get his hands on Brandon's chair- or at least on one half of it.

Catherine played her part although the mask with the heavy pearl strings dangling from it were really getting on her nerves. She was finally paired with Brandon who looked tired even with a mask on. Her heart sank. Perhaps she had ruined everything that had been between them by her fit of selflessness?

She bowed down to him from the platform that represented the island.

"Congratulations, Lord President." She forced herself to smile.

He smiled back hesitantly. "I-"

He wanted to apologise. Again. This affair was standing between them like the Hadrian's Wall had between the Romans and the Scots and she wanted to tear it down. She wanted him to look at her as he had once, she did not want to stare into these tired eyes and see the weak smile on his lips.

"We have different opinions on everything, from art to justice. I was aware of that, my lord." And still, I feel like we have so much in common too. She did not have the courage to say it though.

"It is strange, isn't it?" He said. "While at the same time-"

He did not finish his sentence but she thought that perhaps, he wanted to say the same, for he swept her from the platform with new vigour and did not let go of her waist even when her feet were firmly on the ground.

"Will I you dance with me later, my lady?"

"Oh, I hope you will dance with me." _Too forward, you floosy._ She tried too hard-

But he only laughed. "Every single dance, my lady, you will regret your kind-heartedness." He kissed her hand. "Perhaps we find some more things we can fight about."

"Oh, certainly." She had to laugh now, too.

"At least that we agree on", he grinned.

 **~o~**

They had resumed their game. After the wait of a month, some of the tension had died away and she was hesitant again at first...but not for long. Wolsey's shadow had left and there were only the two Marys between them. Yet, Cat found it easy to ignore that most of the time, probably because her heart was pounding in her ears whenever he talked to her, or danced with her or walked with her. May had come and with it the May festivities.

The Queen presided over the official tournament and Anne was suspiciously absent, had withdrawn to Hever in a fit of rage until Henry sent her fifteen letters a day and threatened to travel to Kent himself to bring her back. To celebrate her return, Henry had arranged a tourney only for her. He wore her favour for all to see and declared himself the happiest man on earth. His surcoat matched her scarlet gown and he had gifted her with a hood made of cloth of gold that looked suspiciously like a crown from a distance.

Brandon rode too. And of course he rode well, he was a gifted sportsman and the king's equal in this at least. Cat just wished he'd be a bit less carefree. One participent had been dragged from his horse with a spear in one eye. She really liked Brandon's eyes both of them. And the rest, too. He had asked for her favour and she had given it to him, had sprayed a kerchief with half a bottle of her finest perfume and slept on it before giving it to him. He would do well to survive this tourney unscathed or she would be very mad at him. That was something she was not supposed to say though. Not even to think, in fact, but she couldn't help it. She was scared for him. Especially, when the final tilt came...

 **~o~**

 **Charles, a few days earlier**

 **~o~**

He would ask her for her favour. And he would have to do it before some audacious noble gentleman did it. It were only two days until the tourney, perhaps she had already given it away?

He had to hurry.

"Will you give me your favour for the tournament, Lady Catherine?" He found her in the gardens where she read a book. Something about religion, nothing that interested him, in all truth- though he would read it if she asked him to.

"I dare not." Her smiled was full of mischief. She was playing with him and he felt the familiar excitement rise in him that came with playing with her.

"I would gladly fight a duel for it, my lady." _How foolish that sounds._

She rose from the bench and walked a few steps away from him.

"You would have a hard time finding someone to duel you for my favour. Perhaps little Hermes will be up for the challenge."

Hermes was one of Lady Anne's dogs. Charles knew of course that hewould find more than a dozen men who were ready and willing to fight for her, but perhaps not to fight him. His own involvement with her forced other courtiers to withdraw. No one wanted the Duke of Suffolk as his enemy, and least of all for a woman's favour. As annoying as his reputation was, at least it was good for something. No one would try to fight _him_ for a Catherine's favour, especially not after Talbot.

He would not tell her that though, before she decided to rather waste her time on someone of nobler blood and quicker comebacks.

"How else can I win it then?"

That had been the right question for her face lit up. She was enjoying this, he thought. Perhaps, there was even a slight chance she had really fallen in love with him. Only a tiny bit. That would be enough for him for now.

Following a sudden impulse, he reached out for her hand, eager to touch her skin. She seemed surprised but did not withdraw her hand.

She looked at him and for the briefest of moments, a smile played around her lips. But then, she was concentrating again.

"I would say 'Write me a poem' but I would rather not play the martyr."

He pulled her closer for that, as close as he dared here in the open where everyone could see them.

"You are quite impertinent, my lady. We are going hunting tomorrow, and if I catch you, I may wear your favour."

She laughed. "You are making it easy for yourself, Your Grace. You are a far better rider and your horse is fast. If you really want to fight for it, win the archery competition against me tomorrow."

Charles was not a good archer. He considered archers cowards. Brave men did not hide on towers, brave men fought in the battle. She on the other hand was as good as Lady Anne. Many women at court practised archery, many of them more successfully than men, despite their gowns and sleeves. Women had sharper yes, of that Charles was sure. Mary, his Mary, had always seen far more than he had. That was nothing he wanted to dwell on though. He could not really back away from the challenge either although he was certain he would lose. But she was right, he was a good rider and his horse was fast. It would be easy and he enjoyed a challenge, in all truth.

"You are making it easy for yourself then, my lady." He gave back but then he nodded. "As you wish."

"Whose favour will you ask for if you don't get mine?" She asked, playfully, but there was something more serious behind it.

He had no intention to make jokes about this: "No one's. If you do not give me yours, I will fight without female protection." He had meant it as a playful comment but she seemed surprised.

She did not reply to it and changed the topic and he wondered whether he had perhaps been too forward. He was not a good thinker, in all truth.

~o~

Charles had started quite self-confidently and his first arrow had hit the bull's eye. As had hers. His second had gone astray, at least two inches. Hers had not. His next one was better, but not much. It was her turn now and he knew, she would hit the bull's eye again. She would win anyway, unless she missed by more than three inches. Charles did not care for the courtiers' mockery he would likely have to face. But her victory also meant she would not give him her favour tomorrow. He did not deserve it. Suddenly feeling ill-humoured, he turned away but when the courtiers gasped, he whirled back around. Her arrow was next to his. But on the wrong side. On the outer side. It was so perfectly placed, only a little over three inches from the bull's eye, that he knew, she had not suddenly lost her aim. She had lost on purpose. She would give him her colours for the tourney, though not because he deserved it but because apparently, she wanted to. The sun seemed brighter, the breeze far more pleasant and her smile as beautiful as ever.

"You have a good aim." He murmured later, when everyone else was too preoccupied with the buffett and the musicians. She had stayed behind though, stood a few yards away from the pavillion.

The evening not full dark yet, but dark enough to offer him cover. He knew he stood too close to her because he felt the warmth of her body but she did not object. Neither did she take a step backwards. She only looked at him, her eyes glinting with mischief.

"It was a breeze, my lord."

"Of course, what else would it be?" Charles replied. "I promise, I will practise my archery. One day, I will win your favour fairly and squarely."

"Oh, you have." She smiled. "Perhaps not today. But you have."

He should just kiss her. He was quite sure she wanted him to. He should just tell her what he felt. If Henry was right, she was at least fond of him. Perhaps she would say yes. But she had let him win today. He would win at least their bet fairly. If only she weren't so maddeningly charming herself. Everything he knew about seduction seemed shrill and cheap when it came to her.

Despite his good intentions, Charles might have given into his desire to take the kiss there and then had Lady Anne not chosen this particularly ill-timed moment to look for her friend.

Catherine left him reluctantly, he thought, or perhaps he only hoped so.

Lady Anne's tourney was a display of splendour. The king's beloved wore bright red and a headpiece fashioned from cloth of gold. She behaved like a queen and Charles tried to ignore the irritation that grew in him for Catherine and Henry's sake.

Catherine had given him a kerchief of fine white linen, edged with pale green crochet lace. It smelled of her and he would definitely not give it back after the tourney. He had considered to put it under his pillow- and then emptied a jug of cold water over his head. He was turning into a fine pansy.

Charles couldn't help it though, he thought foolish thoughst again and again. Her initials were embroidered onto a corner of the kerchief. _C. S._ If she ever agreed to marry him, they would have the same initials. Perhaps she would embroider them onto a kerchief then as well. _C. B. & C. B._ Perhaps not because she hated needlework. She was someone who liked being outdoors and he liked that about her. Perhaps she wouldn't embroider their joint initials on a kerchief because she would never marry him. That seemedfar more likely at the moment, especially given all the impediments that Charles forgot about so conveniently. It was far more enjoyable to entertain the hope that she would say yes, and entertain it he did.

He was set on winning every round for her, ran against younger men and nobler men and beat them all. The final round was against the king. Henry paused for a moment, removed his helmet to have a drink, grinning at Charles from the other side of the tiltyard. Charles grinned back. Catherine was not on the tribune with her friend, instead, she came running down the gravelled path from the castle. She had been there during the last round, he was quite certain. He remembered her cheering for him.

"Catherine!" He walked towards her in armour as Henry was still busy with his servants.

"You fought well." She smiled as soon as she reached him.

"I mean to fight even better."

Her gaze went to the other side of the yard, she saw Henry, still laughing with his men.

"Against the king?" Did she not believe him good enough? He would be able to beat Henry. Henry was a good jouster but Charles had known him all his life. He always aimed a little too far to the right. All Charles needed to do was shift in his saddle.

"Against the king." He tried not to sound offended but she tried to hide a smile so perhaps he had not succeeded.

"No one doubts your valour, Your Grace. I personally value wise men higher than strong men, for they live longer." And then, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. He should have shaved better. He felt the urge to rub his cheek and feel whether it was soft but resisted.

"Good luck, Master Brandon." She was mocking him again and he wanted to pull her close but there would be steel plate between them so it was no good.

"Thank you, Mistress Catherine." He gave back and she laughed as she walked away from him. She wanted him to lose against the king. There was honour in letting the king win, she was right, and Herny would thank him for it later, especially in front of his Lady Anne. But Charles was ambitionate in this at least.

He had still not decided what to do when he climbed back onto his horse in full armour, and not when his horse fell into a swift gallop. He brought his lance up instinctively when Henry rose his, he caught the blow although it almost threw him off his horse- and when he looked back up, he saw that his lance was broken. Splinters of painted wood lay in the sand. The king was laughing.

"Another round, Your Majesty?"

Henry looked at Charles.

"No. It's a tie."

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**

 **~o~**

The May festivities were brilliant. Cat felt as if she barely slept, as if it was only sugar and wine in her blood that made her walk and talk and she felt light headed from sunrise to sunset. The Queen was even more lonely these days because for the festivites, Henry had moved to Hampton Court from Whitehall, but left his wife behind. Anne was at his side though, outshining all other ladies like the moon outshone the stars. After the break with Rome, Henry did not even bother to keep up the facade. He openly admitted to his friends and courtiers that he was questioning the Pope's authority and that no matter what impediment Clement had found, Katherine would soon be reduced to his brother's widow and Anne would become Queen of England. He had not visited his daughter in months, probably preparing not only her but also himself for her changed role in the game of power.

These days, neither mother nor daughter mattered anymore. Court was more than ever a place of ambition and cunning, far more than of noble blood and traditions, and the old lords were mumbling and grumbling- but stood no chance against the now powerful gentry, led by Thomas Boleyn and his supporters. They could do as they pleased, nothing they did angered the king, as long as it was Anne who confessed their sins. He paid for slaughtered deer and cows, even paid compensation to a man whose wife had been raped. In the midst of this new, lawless, brighter court was Anne, herself blameless for the development around her but nevertheless its figurehead. She was a Queen in all but name now and decorated her chambers at Hampton Court with richdrapings of purple velvet and cloth of gold. Although it weren't the royal chambers, they looked like it.

Henry approved. He gave her purple gowns to wear and headpieces of gold and gemstones, her servants had their own livery now and her family was always at the top of the table. Catherine was part of Anne's faction now, her place at the future Queen's side unquestioned after Anne had spoken up for her several times. Not even old Norfolk said an unfriendly word although he did not hide his grudge well and spent more and more time in the countryside. No one really missed him.

The court was also younger than ever and the dances and banquets, the masques and garden feasts, the hunting trips and picnics were more frequent and lasted longer than in Queen Katherine's days. Often the king would go on a trip on the Thames, Anne and him and their closest companions in the royal barge, making their way downriver for a picnic. Quite naturally, Brandon was always with them and Cat rarely left his company. She was fully aware that she loved him like she had never loved anyone before. Despite his many attributes that did not match her criteria for potential husbands, he had conquered her like the English had conquered Calais: With perseverance, audacity and hidden qualities. He had still not asked for the wager, something that made her increasingly nervous as she was already throwing herself at him like a Smithfield whore. It wouldn't take long and she would start sitting on his lap like a kitten and visit his chambers without excuses. Perhaps he had lost interest because she was so easy to conquer. Perhaps he had lost interest because he didn't have the endurance for such a long hunt. In that case, she should be relieved. Perhaps he was waiting for something though, for the perfect opportunity to take what she had been willing to give him for such a long time...

~o~

Henry had decided to finally reveal his new garden. Throughout spring, the royal gardeners had worked on an intricate design from France, inspired by the ancient original: There was a maze in the vast pleasure gardens of Hampton Court. The sun was bright and Henry had decided to enjoy the weather with his beloved, his best friend and Catherine, of whom he had grown even fonder in the recent past. She had given the king a taste of a dish that was rarely served at court- loyalty and conscientiousness.

The maze was huge, spanned more than an acre of land, and the hedges were leafy and high and hid the insides perfectly. Henry was giddy as a child before Christmas.

"The gardeners lost one of their men in there and it took him half a day to find his way out again." He warned, but then he grinned: "You go in first, my ladies." He kissed Anne's hand. "And we will try to catch you. Whoever arrives at the centre first wins. Go now, ladies, and be quick." He grinned and Anne and Cat lost no time. The hedges inside were as leafy as those on the outside and soon, they were not sure where they were. "We should seperate." Cat suggested. "It might confuse them and one of us will most likely reach the centre first."

Anne nodded. "Then I'll go this way." She turned to their right but looked back at her friend with a mischievous smile: "Remember Cat, don't be too quick for him to catch you."

"Remember Nan, don't let him catch you too early." Cat grinned back and watched Anne disappear behind a tall hedge, the train of her dark blue gown trailed after her, muffling her steps. Cat turned to the left, towards the centre of the maze, she thought. She was quick, trying to remember her ways, but it was the fun part to always feel a little trapped. Had she not just seen this hedge?

She heard steps somewhere close to her and was not sure whether it was Anne at first. No, these were heavier. Too brisk for the king. Brandon. He was somewhere close to her, perhaps on a few steps away if they were on an open field- but they weren't. Here in the maze, he could still be miles away.

She hurried, tried to find the centre with more determination now. Yes, to the right now, if she had not erred, and now straight on. The steps were behind her now and she started to run. She would not let him win, that much was certain. She looked back to make sure that he was not directly behind her. No, but he could not be far either. She stayed on the same path, confident it would take her to the heart and the prize, whatever it was.

"You better hurry, Lady Catherine." She heard Brandon laugh behind her. "Or I'll catch you."

She could not run any faster than she did now, she was already out of breath and cursed her vanity that had told the maid to lace the bodice tighter. His footsteps were heavier now, he was running too. Not long thereafter, she could see him behind her, not more than ten yards away. She took a bend to her right, not quite sure whether this was the way but too preoccupied to consider the other path. He followed her, so either this was the right path or he did not care about winning at all.

He was faster than her, of course he was. He wore no gown and no corset and he was an excellent sportsman. Right before the next bend, strong hands grabbed her waist and pulled her backwards. She stumbled against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing her against his body. Why had she even run away? This was better than anything the king had to offer.

"I grant you that much, Lady Catherine", he mumbled somewhere above her right ear and his breath was warm and wet on her skin. She was certain he could see the goosebumps that had formed on her forearms and quickly shook back the sleeves to cover her wrists.

"You are very hard to catch." His lips brushed against her ear now, his arms were still wrapped around her, she could not even move her arms but she did not want to anyway. Instead, she leant against his chest.

"I grant you that much." She smiled. "You are quite relentless."

He chuckled somewhere near her ear. His hands started to move now, one caressed her waist while the other one crept up slowly, neglected her chest and came to rest on her collarbone. He blew away some loose strands of hair that had escaped the hairnet at the nape of her neck and she did not manage to suppress a pleasant shudder.

"Does that mean I have persuaded you now, my lady?"

She could still say no and he would let her go, that was what he meant to tell her. His grip around her loosened, his hand left her skin, waiting for her reply. She said nothing, turned around to him with a smile but that seemed reply enough. On his face was the same excitement she felt. Slowly, gingerly, she placed her hands on his broad chest, her fingers felt the black and silver brocade of his doublet, and when he shifted his position, she felt the muscles working underneath it.

The hands that had grabbed her were snaking around her waist once again, a pleasant touch that prompted an odd pulling sensation in her stomach.

"You are too perfect." He muttered, his eyes fixed on hers. "I try to charm you but every time I talk to you, I forget what it was I wanted to say."

She wanted to say that she felt the same but suddenly, her lips were occupied. He tasted of honey and apples. His lips were soft and warm on hers and she melted into his embrace, could not say where he started and she begun, they were one. Heavens, yes she had been kissed before, had kissed before, but never like was not courtliness, this was passion, desire. This was what people wrote poems about, not careful sonnets but those poems that left you shaking and longing. This was consuming and rewarding at the same time, an experience that touched her whole, his strong arms around her, a warm satisfaction inside her that told her that this was exactly where she was supposed to be. She was one with Brandon, breathed his air, and when she felt his tongue against her lips, they parted without any thought, welcoming him. No, she could not think at all, there was no part of her mind that was not utterly occupied with this, he was everywhere. Not for a moment did she stop to consider whether this was appropriate, because it was right, it felt as if this was where she belonged. Her hands had found their way into his hair, pulling him closer. She wanted more of him and was already so overwhelmed that she felt like there could not be more, there was nothing better in this world.

Catherine did not know how long their kiss took but long enough to render them both breathless.

He looked at her, his lips swollen, his cheeks red, his hair a mess, his eyes dark.

"Marry me, Catherine." he said hoarsely. "Please. Words are not my strong point but all words would fail to describe how tenderly, how passionately, how ardently I love you. _I have to be with you. I need you._ I love you."

 _He loves me._ She had to say yes, of course she had to. She loved him too, there was no one on the face of the earth but him. She was about to say yes when her mind gained the upper hand again.

"I cannot."

His face fell and the fingers on her waist tensed, then withdrew.

"And why not?"

"Because of Mary." She did not dare to look at him, out of fear that she might start to cry and curse her sister. If not for her, she would be happy, with him.

"Leviticus-" Brandon started and she nodded.

"Leviticus...and her _affair_ with you was her demise. How could I-" Her voice broke but he had understood anyway

"Is that the only impediment you see, my lady?" _My lady._ _Impediment._ Was he a lawyer now?

She raised her gaze to find him oddly uncomposed. He was in despair. Her heart softened at the sight.

I-" She started, knowing what she wanted to say, still working up the courage, but he was impatient.

"I understand." he said, briskly. And walked away from her, left her alone.

She ran after him but got lost in the maze. Anne found her, saw her tear-stained face and said nothing. She embraced her friend, kissed her on both cheeks and pulled her onto a bench until Cat regained her posture. Nan did not ask what happened, not until they were back in the castle, in Catherine's chambers.

Anne listened to her report, offered her a handkerchief, waited until she had finished. Then, softly, calmly, she started speaking: "But Mary is dead, Cat. She was never his wife. And Leviticus says-"

"But don't you see, Anne? It is all because of him. She is dead because she was sent away. Who knows, perhaps my father would be alive if-"

"This is nonsense. Are you just looking for a reason to be unhappy?" Now, she was more vigorous. "You have everything you want, Cat, right there, you only have to reach out. But instead, you push him away. I think you want to punish yourself. Because you feel guilty for what happened to your sister. For what happened to your father. That is why you tried to help Wolsey, too. You could not save them. You feel guilty because you are still alive, you are here and you have the chance to be overwhelmingly happy. A chance your father and sister had too, once. But they refused. Your sister could have married every highborn nobleman. She could have been Countess or Marquise, but she chose a different path. It is not Brandon's fault, Catherine, but only hers. She had a choice, just like you and me."

Perhaps Anne was right. Perhaps Cat had really made a terrible mistake. Perhaps.

* * *

Forgive me. You have no idea how hard it is to actually write something happy. I could write for Grey's Anatomy, really. I'm working on a happy end though (spoiler), so bear with me! There will be fluff and lots of love, far too soon for my cold heart. But perhaps I have to throw in some suffering, just for the sake of it.

Thank you as aways for your kind reviews, they make my day(s).

Xenocanaan: Yeah, it's a trick as old as time but rather successful I think^^. Yeah, Anne's family is bad and I have shamelessly antagonised some of her relatives. European politics will play a part soon enough!I thank you for reviewing, you are very sweet.

Unique16: I thank you so much, I am often rather self-conscious about my language as it is not my first language.

Princess07890: Sorry, Charles Brandon is already taken, I was there first. You're always free to have Henry, if you fancy a bit of a risk though^^ I'll do my best to make them happy, I just enjoy drama so much more! THank you for your continuous support though, I'm almost inclined to give up Chuck Brandon!

TSSKS: Yes! I totally agree, I feel that is exactly what happened. Brandon was one of many who was jealous of Anne and I am considering what effects might change his position...(Dunno, something like a wife that is Anne's closest friend perhaps? And a relationship that develops very differently...As I said, I'm still weighing my options and it's fun!)

MissLaufeyson97: Thank you!I hope I won't disappoint you now!


	19. Chapter 19

**Thank you to those who left a review! I'm always terribly excited when I see the notification!**

* * *

 **Whitehall Palace**

 **Catherine**

 **~o~**

Catherine understood several days later that Anne was right, and quite ironically, it were Lucy Talbot and Margery Horsham who served her the bitter truth. Cat had just been on her way to fetch the Queen some embroidery silk when she heard the two maids chatting in the empty reception chamber: "Serves her right that the duke ignores her now. God knows, she threw herself at him like a Smithfield whore." That was Margery's nasal voice.

"Oh, indeed. She is as much of a harlot as that sister of hers, I cannot remember her name." Cat's heart skipped a beat at Lucy's words. How dared she talk about Mary like that? She had half a mind to interfere, but what good would that do her? And they were right, weren't they? She _had_ thrown herself at Brandon.

"What, that prim nun married to the Duke of Norfolk? She couldn't be a harlot even if she tried to, not with that nose," Marge sniggered. _Oh, but look at your weak chin. No pearl necklace and prim collar will ever hide it._

"No, the other one. She's dead I think." Lucy's heartless tone made Cat shiver with anger. "Only the Mother Mary knows whom she has not bedded, rumour has it she has lain with her brother-in-law, too, no man was ever enough for her. She had a dozen children, all from different men, I heard from a friend in Yorkshire."

Catherine did not hear Margery's reply but retreated silently and sank down onto a window seat in the corridor, the embroidery silk all but forgotten.

 _'Only the Mother Mary knows whom she has not bedded'._ Mary had been very unlike the Holy Mother, that much was certain. Cat had been only a child back then, but perhaps, her father's punishment for Mary had only been so severe because the fling with Brandon had not been her only misdeed. Perhaps he had sent her far away to stop her from shaming her family further. Cat could understand her father's decision without approving of it. If that was the case though...well, then Mary's death was not Brandon's fault, only her own and their father's. If that was the case- well, Leviticus did speak of brothers, not sisters, and perhaps Anne was right: She had only been looking for a way to make it complicated because marrying Brandon would be a final betrayal of the values her father had taught her. _And look where his values got him. Look what kind of man he was. Look what he did to his daughters: One married to a despot twice her age, one banished to rot in a draughty manor, the youngest sent away to France all alone. His children were only pawns to him, even his son._ That was not what Cat wanted. She remembered Brandon with his two young, royal daughters, girls that he protected from the politics of court and the game for power as well as he could. That was what she wanted for her future family, too.

 _Oh, Lord, have mercy, please._ Hopefully it wasn't too late. She rushed to his chambers but found them empty and turned to the royal chambers with a terrible sense of foreboding.

"Lady Catherine?" It was the king, apparently on his way to the gardens.

"Your Majesty," she curtsied hastily. "I would like to talk to the Duke of Suffolk, do you know where he is?" She did not even care that both Boleyn men and a few other courtiers were within earshot. Henry raised a brow: "Well, you will have to send a letter. His Grace departed this morning to spent time with his daughters."

Her heart sank. "Your Majesty, do I have your leave to follow him? It is important-"

"I know what it is about."

Apparently, the shock was plain on her face because the king laughed heartily and pulled her over to the window, away from the others.

"Of course I do. And that is why I cannot allow you to follow him. You made your mind up now, my lady? Rather late, in all honesty. Yet, not all is lost and-" His deep blue eyes twinkled. They were not unlike the duke's, but more brilliant in colour, Catherine noticed with a touch of nostalgia. How often had she looked into those pale blue eyes, oblivious to the world around them?  
"Charles does not have the self-restraint to stay away from you forever," the king continued in a hushed voice, "He is angry though, and hurt. Allow him some time to heal, my lady. I have never seen him as unwavering as in his affection for you and hopefully, you will finally cherish him. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Anne has demonstrated that much to me." The king laughed again when he saw Cat's face. "She is playing games with me, I am aware, my lady. I am her willing partner in every game she has in mind. She plays with me because she loves me. I am not a lovesick fool although everyone seems to think I am." He threw a glance at Rochford and Wiltshire, both trying to appear as if they did not care for the two figures by the window at all. "Now, Lady Catherine, smile. Paradise is within reach."

Below them, Anne had mounted her fine red mare and was apparently japing with the steward.

"If you forgive me? My paradise is waiting as well." He kissed her hand. "I will see you at dinner. All those gentlemen that have only been waiting for Charles to give up- I wouldn't want to miss it for a hundred crowns."

He was still laughing as he made his way down the stairs. Catherine did not feel so elated. Brandon had left her all alone. Worse, she couldn't even blame him. She had ruined everything and the king thought it was a joke.

Cat was full of regret and good intentions in those first days. She would tell him what she felt right away. He wouldn't be long, she was certain. He loved her after all, he had said so himself. Of course he would return soon.

He didn't though and Cat started to feel far less rueful. Yes, she had been a fool. She admitted that much freely. She had behaved like an indecisive milkmaid. But he had simply left her and thereby destroyed all hope for a reconciliation. Because how should she tell him that she had come to realise her mistake now that he was gone? How should she try to remedy her mistake if he wasn't even there to listen? She was more than certain that he would burn her letters without reading them and anyway: It was not what should be expressed in a letter.

Yes, as the days passed by and summer came, Catherine was less and less inclined to play the role of the repentant sinner. Despite her now rebellious attitude, she couldn't stop thinking about him though. Whether he was enjoying his time in the countryside. Whether the two girls had grown much. Whether he played with them or read to them. Whether he thought about her at all.

She had been looking forward to the summer progress because it had promised the kind of distraction she had dire need of, yet, once again, she was disappointed.

The weather was terrible, grey clouds greeted her in the morning and the sound of violent cold rains lulled her to sleep. Henry did not seem to mind to much, he was occupied with refurnishing rooms for Anne and planning the expansion of several royal houses. There were the usual balls and masques that kept his mood cheerful and his courtiers occupied but that was not enough to distract Cat, quite the contrary: She only noticed that she missed Brandon even more. Everything was familiar, from the Great Hall to the music and her attire: She had worn the red gown when he had danced that daring volta with her, the musicians had played the same piece when he had nearly kissed her right there on the dancefloor.

There were several gentlemen trying to take Brandon's place and if she had not suffered so much, she might have actually found it amusing. None of them had Brandon's audacity or wit, his charm and empathy and they were all barely tolerable compared to the duke. Yet, they were the company she found herself in these days. Anne was often away with Henry, or at important political meetings and most of the other ladies in either Anne's or Katherine's chambers looked at Cat with different eyes. It was obvious to everyone that it had of course been Brandon who had spurned her. Had they not all seen how scandalously eagerly she had thrown herself at him, never even trying to resist his advances as a virtuous lady would have? She was not an outcast, her name was till too grand and her friendship with Anne too close for that. But there was a sort of smug complacency whenever she entered the room: They were as good as Buckingham's pretty daughter, even better after all, because they had no damaged reputation and no broken heart. She had aimed too high, many said. She was too forward, or he would have had her, others added.

The very open discussion about Catherine's now non-existent love life was one reason why she chose to serve Katherine more often these days. Whithout Anne, the elegant rooms at the far end of the palace had nothing inviting about them and in Katherine's chambers, there was usually a pious, if not peaceful silence. She prayed a lot, though silently, and yet, God seemed to have chosen not to hear her. Or perhaps this was the divine punishment for all her little sins. _Rightly so,_ said the little voice inside her head that often sounded like her father. Sometimes, she heard Elizabeth, too, and rarely even her French governess. They all agreed though: Her behaviour was the sole reason for her misery. Had she behaved like a proper lady, she wouldn't have a reason to be so devastated now. _Those upstarts know nothing about loyalty. Weathervanes, all of them._ Cat tried to ignore them but the anger inside her rose steadily with every passing day without him.

She might actually have succeeded in blackguarding Brandon if it hadn't been for Anne.

"He fled like a coward, Nan," Cat pointed out during one of their now rare moments alone.

"You refused him, Cat. He is only a man, after all." Anne was picking her attire for the evening, Henry had sent a few new gowns and jewels.

"You refuse the king a dozen times a day, and he is still here!"

Now, Anne turned around and arched an eyebrow: "We both know that it's not the same. Also, this is the _royal_ palace of Whitehall- where else should the king go? No, Cat, you feel guilty for scaring Brandon away and try to blame it on him now."

That was harsh, rude and completely true.

"I really wish you weren't that sharp-sighted."

Now Anne smiled her very special wicked half smile that she had perfected in France: "You could just as well wish for a new friend then. I will always be truthful to you, even when you aren't truthful to yourself. Brandon is kind and clever, he has a good sense of humour and the right temper to match yours. He would swim the channel for you with a barrel of lead on his back and a host of enemy soldiers on the south bank. Not forgetting that he is wealthy, influential and the second man in the kingdom, right after the king himself."

Catherine sudenly loged for the soothing, albeit depressing silence of the Queen's chambers. It was vastly preferable to the bitter truths Anne served her today.

Anne was clever enough to never tell Cat what to do and offer her a solution. She didn't allow her to forget Brandon though. Every day, quite casually, she would drop a remark about him, about a letter he sent to the king, about a gift he had once given to Catherine, about his position on the council and how Norfolk hoped he would never return- It were only a few words and she never allowed Cat to reply to it, to start a conversation about the duke. She would brush over it, talk of other things and pretend she had never mentioned him in the first place.

"Oh, come on, Cat, I won't talk about Brandon again. Leave him in peace. What do you think about my new composition? His Majesty said he loves it, but I find it a tad too melancholic. There is too much longing in it- but His Majesty found it fitting."

Catherine knew very well what Anne was doing but she had no idea how to fight it. Everything in her wanted to think about him and no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that she wasn't interested anymore, it did not work. Every day, when she walked down the step to the Great Hall to break her fast, she hoped that someone would tell her that Brandon had arrived at court surprisingly overnight or at least that he planned to return very soon. She was disappointed every morning, again and again, and that only made her more desperate. She had even considered trying to ride to Westhorpe on her own, just like she had once ridden to London from Kelmscott. But the king would not allow her and it was impossible to leave court and the city without his permission, especially as a woman. No guard would allow her to pass and no steward would saddle her horse in the dead of the night without informing his superior. Cat had tried to write to him but never found the words. She had tried to think of a meaningful gift, a poem to send to him, but her mind was as blank as the paper in front of her. All she could do was wait and hope and fear.

 **~o~**

 **Westhorpe Hall**

 **Charles**

 **~o~**

Normally, the days at Westhorpe brought him joy like nothing else. All alone with his daughters, free to do as he pleased, no political distractions or the busy courtly life. It was exactly those distractions that he missed now because, with nothing but the gardens and hunting grounds to occupy himself with, and no one but the servants and his daughters to talk to, he had far too much time to think about her. All letters from the king and most letters from his other acquaintances at court contained more or less subtle hints. Henry in particular seemed to have developed a fondness for her: Every day, it seemed, he spent time with her and his sweetheart, Catherine went riding with them, sat in the same barge, had picnics and danced at every ball and masque, always surrounded by a flock of drooling gentlemen, all willing to sell their mothers for her hand. It made Charles angry to read all that, even though he was aware that Henry wanted him to feel like that.

" _... Lady Catherine finds it increasingly hard to ward off her many suitors, and although she never encourages anyone and seems to have eyes for no gentleman at court, I fear she might do something imprudent at some point. She is heartbroken, Anne says, and I can only hope that she does not try to mend her own heart by breaking someone else's. We will soon start our summer progress, as the cold and rainy days are finally over, and jolly times lie ahead. Dances and masques, hunting trips and a few very interesting and rather frivolous games Farylon devised. I do not command you to return but I beseech you to reconsider. You were not made for the lonely country life and you are dearly missed. I promise, I'll open my finest barrel of wine, if you return to court for the summer progress. If you choose not to, I fear I will have no other choice but give the position of President of the Council to old Norfolk. He is never absent from council meetings. But be assured that I accept whatever choice you make. Kiss my nieces and buy them a gift._

 _Henricus Rex."_

Charles would have very much liked to tell his king what he thought of his letter in person, and perhaps it was good he couldn't, for much of what he wanted to say would probably be classified as treason.  
When he had cooled down a little, Charles reread the letter, focusing on the part about Catherine. Henry had coaxed him to propose to her, Charles would have never asked her had Henry not told him that she was in love. _She is not indifferent._ That much Charles was sure of. He knew, of course, that she did not love him like he loved her but she had been interested. She had smiled when he had proposed, he remembered. And for that brief moment, he had thought she would accept. But then her face had fallen and he had seen tears in her eyes and he had known the words before they had escaped her lips. It all came down to Mary Stafford. If only he could tell her- but he had given a promise to a dying man. _It doesn't matter anyway, Charles, does it? You have broken every single promise you ever gave. 'I will never lie with that lady', 'I will protect Princess Mary and never marry her', 'I will never cheat on you', and, worst of all: 'I will love you forever'_...The list was long. Why did it matter? He could just tell her, perhaps she would forgive him and he would finally find that overwhelming happiness the poets wrote about. But Charles did not want to begin their marriage with the breaking of a promise.

That was the irony of it: Break a promise just to give another. He was a different man now, one with morals and values. _An unhappy man. What are morals and values for, if not to make you happy and lighten your conscience?_ It was true...He felt terribly about it. He had lied to her about her sister, back then when she had asked him. A lie that had come easy to him, because he had told it so often, yet not as easy as it should have. Henry, with his admirable ability to always turn a problem to his own advantage, would probably say 'You will not begin your marriage with a broken promise but with the truth, with trust and faith.' And he wouldn't be wrong, really, would he? Charles had given the promise to a friend, and wouldn't a friend wish him happiness, even if that meant that he would have to let only one person in on his secret? _You are trying to deceive yourself._ He was...and it was working.

"Betha!" He ran down the stairs from his study.

"Your Grace?"

"I will leave on the morrow. Make sure everything is ready for my departure."

If the housekeeper was surprised by his sudden decision, she did not show it: "As you wish, Your Grace."

"And there'll be wine for the servants tonight. And candied fruit for the children tomorrow."

Now, the round face did show a reaction: Betha frowned slightly. "That will not sweeten the day for them, I fear, Your Grace, but we will do our best. Thank you, Your Grace."

It was far harder to break it to his daughters. He had stayed for a while now, it was already June, and he knew the longer he stayed, the harder it was to say goodbye, for both him and the girls.

Frances and Mary were sitting in the east parlour together, a rare image of sisterly harmony, playing dice together.

"Ah, father. Good that you are here. Mary is cheating." Frances was smiling.

"I am not cheating! You are cheating!" Mary had one die in her little fist though and her protest was therefore not very convincing.

"Ah, now, Mary-" Charles said, very seriously, "-you know that you may not cheat!"

He lifted her up in the air (she was still light as a feather) and spun her around until she sqealed in excitement. "And if you cheat, you have to cheat so well that no one notices," he whispered very audibly before he set her down again. "Now, shall we play together?"

Frances had arched an eyebrow disapprovingly and once again reminded Charles of his wife. "Cheating is never allowed," she said.

"Look at you, sweetheart. Wise beyond your years." He kissed her on the forehead.

"Your uncle, the king, has ordered me to make you both a gift in his name. Now, what would you like?"

Mary got up as quickly as she could and tugged at Charles' doublet: "I want a pony! I want to ride like a real lady!"

"You are too young for a pony, Mary, but perhaps-"

But his younger daughter was not one to give up her dreams. She looked at him with angry grey blue eyes, her childish round face an image of defiance: "Not too young! I am almost seven. And Frannie and Bess have ponies, too. And Lady Catherine said she learnt riding when she was six- Lord Father," she added hastily when she saw his face.

He decided to ignore the remark about Catherine. "You can ask for a pony for your birthday, Mary. Ask _nicely_. What about you Frances, is there something you want?"

"You are leaving, aren't you, Lord Father?"

She had always been clever.

"Yes," Charles admitted, "but I'll be back soon, I promise." _Another promise you will probably not keep._

"When are you leaving?" Mary had all but forgotten about the pony. Even worse,neither of them tried to convince him to stay. They knew he wouldn't change his mind and they knew that when he had to go to court, nothing would hold him back. Somehow, that made him sad.

"Tomorrow morning." The elation he had felt at the prospect of seeing _her_ again had died away but left him no less determined.

Their goodbye was hard, as always, and he consoled himself with the fact that they would be focusing on their studies more now, and that he would write every evening.

The ride was more strenuous that usually because of the sudden heat that had succeeded the rainy cold weather of the past weeks. Both riders and horses were constantly thirsty and Charles felt crushed and tired when they finally arrived at Whitehall in the evening but he was determined to go to the ball. She would be there and he had to make sure everyone saw he was back, not only because of her, he told himself, but also because of his council seat, of course.

He washed and changed quickly, and left for the Great Hall, still bone tired despite two goblets of wine. Henry had sent a barrel to his chambers without comment but Charles knew he was expecting him to be at the feast. Charles had not eaten since their quick cold meal at an abbey and he was loking forward to the extravagant dishes Henry's cooks served.

The tables were empty when he arrived though and the dancefloor crowded, and his empty stomach did nothing to lift his spirits. Charles found the king right away and forced himself to appear jolly and festive. Henry knew him too well to fall for it though. "A tough ride?"

"The heat almost killed my horse," Charles replied. He tried not to look for her but his eyes had a mind of their own it seemed.

"She's dancing." Henry was grinning. "Don't worry, we'll discuss everything tomorrow, Lord President."

He put a hand on his shoulder briefly: "Be patient, Charles." _Whatever that means_.

He stalked towards the dancers, looking for her. It took him a while to find her face in the crowd- But then he did and wished he hadn't. She wore a pale blue gown that went exceptionally well with her blonde hair. A strong hand with long fingers was buried in that blonde hair, another wrapped around her waist. Charles could not see the gentleman's face because the man had bent down to her, was whispering something into her ear. He thought he could hear her laugh.

They spun around so that Catherine faced Charles now and he knew he should go before she saw him and this turned into something embarrassing but he couldn't move. He had been looking forward to this moment and Henry and his brain had tricked him into believing that she had as well, when clearly, she had already found another distraction.

The man moved his hand from her waist to her neck and suddenly, a lot of things happened in very quick succession: Catherine turned her head away from her dance partner slightly, and met Charles' gaze. Her eyes widened in surprise, then fear, colour rose to her cheeks and she pushed the man's arm away, struggled with his grip around her waist. She shouted something but Charles couldn't hear her over the music. He looked at her one last time, the arm still wrapped around her waist, her cheeks flushed, her hair tousled. Then he turned around and walked away, grabbed a goblet of wine on the way and found Henry, thankfully without Lady Anne, in a corner of the hall.

"Not the reunion you've been dreaming of, Charles? Well, you left without a word to her- Did you expect her to stay in her chambers crying her eyes out in your absence?"

That was definitely not what Charles wanted to hear.

"I had not expected her to turn her attentions to another so quickly. But I might have been misled."

Henry understood the jibe. "You are too angry and too rash to make accurate observations tonight. No one has misled you and neither has she had a change of heart. Perhaps you should go to bed, sleep on it. Get some rest."

There were quite a few other things Charles wanted to do, but most of them were illegal and none of them wise, so he nodded briskly. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

"I see you in the morning. I have matters to discuss with you, Charles. It is good that you're back."

He forced himself to smile.

"Ah, nothing is as bad as it seems." Henry's face lit up as he caught sight of something behind Charles' back: "And where have you been hiding, my lady?"

"Perhaps I have just been waiting for you to look for me. But I was bitterly disappointed as -" Anne Boleyn had noticed Charles only now, the light was dim in their corner and she had apparently not expected him. Her dark eyes flew from him to the dancers, to Henry and back to him. She had a unique way of grasping a situation without explanation and apparently, she interpreted Charles' expression correctly.

"I wasn't aware you had returned, Your Grace. You should have announced your arrival, and your welcome might have been warmer."

"Oh, my welcome was quite satisfying as it was, my lady," he replied curtly, "very enlightening."

And with those words, he left Henry to his lady and Catherine to whomever it was.

He couldn't find sleep though and raised early and unrested.

 **Whitehall Palace**

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**

There had been thunder and lighting in the night after the hot week and it was still raining when Cat got up. The ball had been an absolute disaster and she hoped that perhaps the duke was more susceptible to common sense and her reasoning by broad daylight. She dressed quickly but carefully and set out to surprise him in his chambers. It was early in the morning and most other noblemen broke their fast in their chambers or had not risen yet at all, but the duke had already left, as his guards told her. Business with the king.

Cat had a feeling of dejá vu when she climbed up the steps to the royal quarters, only to find the king alone once again.

"I think His Grace was planning on taking a walk." His Majesty was smiling. That was a joke, surely. The rain was running down the lead glass windows in thick streams and Catherine still heard faint thunder. The sky was dark grey and from time to time, lightning flashed across it.

"I think he was planning on leaving by the east portal." Henry smiled.

Cat lost no time. She could have kissed the king's hand but for obvious reasons, she limited herself to shouting "Thank you, Your Majesty" over her shoulder. There were many steps and corridors between the king's chambers and the east portal, and Cat had never run that fast.

She spied his tall figure at the end of the ground floor corridor and hurried even more, gathering her skirts no matter how it looked, no matter how much of her legs she revealed. He heard her steps, turned around, stared at her for a few precious seconds, then his jaws set.

"Leave me alone. Have you not ruined enough?" He shouted and stormed out of the door, across the yard, away from her through the thundering rain.

She did not consider for a moment and ran after him. He was fast but she was light footed and quicker on the muddy grass. Finally, she reached him, grabbed his arm, and to her surprise, he stopped walking. He did not look at her though, his gaze was directed at the low hanging clouds that hovered over the horizon.

"I love you." She shouted it over the rain and it felt so good to admit it that she said it again. "I love you." Now his gaze dropped to hers, he looked positively startled.

Tenderly, she reached out to trace his cheekbone with an ice cold finger. "Charles." His name rolled off her tongue. "And I curse my sister a hundred times every day-" she continued but he cut her off:

"Don't." She was not sure whether she had understood him and was about to repeat her words when he started speaking: "I gave my word to a dying man but I doubt he would curse me from his grave if he knew that this is my one chance at happiness. Catherine, I have never lain with your sister. It was Henry...and William Compton."

Compton?! And the king? But her father had said-

"Henry had started a short dalliance with her and I covered up for him, so that the queen would not find out. Compton fell in love with Mary though and Henry had already lost interest anyway, so they started a dallliance. But the rumour stuck and I continued the farce to save what was left of her reputation for Compton's sake and to protect him from your father's wrath. I was already quite influential back then but William was not even a knight, old Stafford would have crushed him like a beetle. William tried to work up the courage to ask her to marry him, to ask Buckingham for her hand, but he never did.

And then Buckingham discovered what he thought was the truth and sent Mary away. I was the man everyone believed to be her lover but perhaps the only man at court who has never bedded her." The remark stung, perhaps because it was not meant to.

"And why did you promise Compton to keep it a secret?"

Could it be true? That there was no impediment at all? Of course, Mary had always been secretive about this part of her past but Cat had always taken her silence for anger and embarrassment. Yes, this tale he was telling sounded so muddled that it could be true. Brandon would not lie to her, of that she was certain.

"He was ashamed that he had not stood up to your father. Buckingham found me in her chamber, escorting her to Compton's and assumed what everyone assumed. William knew that he had no reason to hope for his approval but Mary might have eloped with him-"

"But he was a coward." Cat did not like cowards and Mary wouldn't have either.

"Only once in his life. He cursed himself on his deathbed, meant to bequeath everything he had to her-"

"But she was dead already."

"Not yet, no, Compton died before we went to Suffolk." Their escape from the Sweat seemed a lifetime ago. "But she was married and Compton had ruined her life before...I found it unfair to allow him to ruin it again from his deathbed as she seemed to have detached herself from him."

"I never knew she loved him." She had never regarded her sister capable of feeling strongly for someone that was not herself. Perhaps she had never known her sister at all.

"I am not sure she did. She said so, certainly. But she did not mention him to Buckingham with a word. She allowed him to believe that it was me. Made you believe it was me." His tone was bitter now but Cat could understand her sister.

"You never had to justify yourself to my father. Well, perhaps back then, but with a king in your back and a title and lands that were your own. Mary was his daughter, without friends or family to support her. Father often threatened to send us to a nunnery. Mary would have said everything to appease him. And you were an upstart but at least one with a grand title. Compton had nothing. My father might have thrown her out to live in the streets had he known that she had had an affair with a man like him."

"Am I supposed to be grateful now that you consider me a better match than a dead man who had nothing but a few coins and a plot of land?" he smiled. Rain water dripped from his dark hair onto his broad shoulders and ran down his chin but he did not seem to notice.

"You better be thankful that I don't have high standards or I would never consider a standard bearer's son." She gave back. A silly smile formed on her lips.

"So you do consider a standard bearer's son, now?" He arched an eyebrow mockingly.

"I would if he asked me but he seems to like teasing me more." She said with feigned distaste.

"Perhaps he has asked you already and thinks once is enough."

"If he thinks I am not worthy of a second proposal, he is not worthy of me."

"You are terrible." He said as he bent down to her, kissing her forehead, her brow, her temples.

"And you are so very charming."

Brandon kissed her softly on the lips, then he dropped to his knees, bravely ignoring the squishy cold mud around his shins: "Catherine Stafford, you most annoying woman. You are intelligent and witty, compassionate and fierce. You drive me mad and I love every moment of it. You intrigue me, you complete me. You make me happier than anyone ever has. Please marry me. Be my wife. My companion and my confidant. I would be so grateful that I would allow you to tease me until the end of my days. I will write you a poem every day so that you have another reason to make fun of me." He grinned. "Say yes now or we will both die of a cold."

"Yes." She smiled and offered him a hand to help him up. He pulled her into a kiss that lasted long enough to make her forget the cold rain running down her cheeks and back. "But only if you do not write me poems. There is only so much my love can endure." She whispered breathlessly after she had broken the kiss.

"I wish your tongue was not as sharp as an executioner's axe." His hand had crept up to her neck, his fingers were pleasantly warm on her wet, cold skin.

"You know you don't." She smiled against his lips.

"No, but I like to pretend that you have some weakness." He kissed her again. "For all I care you can cut me to slices with your tongue."

This time she kissed him and his lips parted for her tongue after he let out a gasp of surprise.

"I have never been happier in my entire life than right here, with mud in my boots and water in my smallclothes." He said afterwards and that brought her back to her senses. The Armageddon could have taken place around them, they would not have noticed, but now she felt the rain getting even worse, the wind howled and lighting and thunder chased each other across the leaden sky.

"It was absolutely foolish to storm outside in this rain." She said as they hurried back to the warmth of palace as quickly as possible, but they interrupted their steps every five yards for a kiss.

"Do you have any idea how maddening you are?" He said before a kiss.

"Do you know how infuriating I find you?" She replied after it.

"I have a vague idea."

They finally reached the warm dryness of the palace.

"I will tell Henry now. When shall we marry? Is this afternoon too early?" He laughed, then kissed her again. "Oh, I will keep quiet now before you reconsider." And he walked away from her, looking back every two steps, leaving muddy traces on the stone tiles.

She would marry him. No, this afternoon was not too early. She would do it right now, in a gown that looked as if she had fished it out of the river Thames.

The way to her chambers was long and she had much to think about. Lost in thoughts, she noticed neither Lucy Talbot and Margery Horsman laughing at her state, nor Anne, who was shocked by her appearance.

"Cat!" She exclaimed and touched her shoulder to rouse her from her thoughts. "Heavens, what happened to you?"

"Oh, I was outside."

"Well, I can see that. Did you go for a swim in the lake?"

Cat ignored her sarcastic comment. "I was outside with Brandon. Nan, we will marry. He and Mary never- you know. He covered up for William Compton. Right now, he is talking to the king."

Anne had started whirling her around after the first few words, now she stopped.

"Oh Cat." She kissed her on both cheeks. "Finally! And I thought you would be united only in your graves, so long did it take you. When is the wedding? What did he say?" Nan looked at her gown. "No, tell me later. First you need to change out of this dress or you will die before you're wed."

Cat walked in a cloud of happiness, felt neither the cold nor the wetness. Only in the warmth of her chamber, when Anne had called the maid to run her a bath, she noticed how cold she had been.

The maid scrubbed her skin until it was bright red but Anne did not have the decency to leave, instead she was showering her with more or less subtle questions. Only when the maid had left did Cat, now wrapped in furs and woolen blankets, have the chance to tell her friend what had happened.

Anne shrieked at the right passages, squeezed her hand, and the pleased smile never left her lips.

" 'Catherine Brandon.' That sounds good. 'Catherine Brandon, Duchess of Suffolk.' His daughters will be over the moon, don't you think? And your wards. And no doubt you two will have children too. Heavens, your house will be an outright nursery! Good that you are both so wealthy."

Cat nudged her in the side.

"I just wish I could find a way to make you that happy, too, Nan." And to her surprise, Anne smiled mischievously.

"Oh, I think I will very soon become very happy. We will both be. And who knows, perhaps one day, your daughter could marry my son and become a Queen of England. Would you like that?"

Cat had to smile. "Oh, not at all."

Anne giggled.

"So I might soon get used to calling you Your Majesty?" Cat asked. "I cannot say you look very majestic right now." Anne had thrown her hood aside and her dark hair hung down in a long, messy braid.

"Nothing is so hard as a friend's ingratitude." Anne sighed and flashed a smile. "I want to be there when Margery and Lucy Talbot find out that they'll soon have to call you "Your Grace"."

"I want someone to paint their faces when I tell them," Catherine grinned, "Your Majesty."

It was Anne's turn to nudge her in the side now but she did not object. Becoming Her Majesty was what she had been working on for all those years. She would wear the crown soon enough, Catherine did not doubt it.

* * *

The stuff with William Compton and Henry really happened early in Henry's reign, only that it was Buckingham's sister, Anne, who had an affair with Compton and COmpton really left her property in his will, something quite unusal. I totally made up the Brandon part (or rather, Michael Hirst did and I stole it from The Tudors). Sorry if it's a bit confusing, I just had to find a way to move that Mary Stafford/ Leviticus obstacle out of the way.

xenocanaan: Thank you for your review! Yes, they really deserve some happiness after all the drama I thrust upon them^^

Guest: I thank you so much, that's really reassuring! I feel the same, which is weird considering I'm not a native speaker. But bad writing really puts me off which sounds terribly arrogant as I am writing myself. But stlye is a matter of taste I think and that's good. Thank you for your comment!

Unique16: So much more fluff to come! (Although I cannot promise that I'll find the Stop button for drama) thank you :)

princess07890: Thank you for reviewing! Yep, she is a bit complicated but she's not completely daft thankfully^^. Ah, that's my tendency to use elliptical constructions that make no sense. I'll take care of it, thank you!

ChildofDreams: Definitely not my intention! Better now? ;)


	20. Chapter 20

I thank you all for your lovely reviews, I turn into a smiling fool every time I get a notification.

This chapter is so much fluff but I tried to spice it up with a few hints at future drama^^. It's more of a go-between chapter to prepare future events (I'm not 100% happy with it) but still the longest I ever published so you might want to read it in portions.

Please let me know what you think! Thank you.

* * *

 **Whitehall Palace**

 **Catherine**

 **~o~**

They would set off on the morrow: The summer progress would take them from one end of the country to the other and Cat was happy to see the sea again.

Today though, the king had plans for his closest friend and her. As Anne had foreseen, Henry had been enthusiastic about their match, not only because he was making his friend very happy but also because Cat, with her Plantagenet blood, was finally off the market. Now the old families of the realm, the exiles and foreign dukes that had a feeble claim to the English throne and hoped to strengthen it with a marriage to Buckingham's daughter, would have to look elsewhere. Charles had been insignificant to marry a king's sister without consequence, he was surely insignificant enough to marry a king's third cousin. His common blood weakened their children's claim just like Katherine Woodville's had once weakened Cat's father's claim. She did not care about the political aspect though, not in the slightest.

She was happier than she ever had been and that was all that counted. Her father had died frustrated and unhappy, only because of ambition and pride. She would not make the same mistake. Cat would be a duchess now, and she would be lying if she said that she would have married Brandon even if he had been no more than a common knight. But her ambitions were achieved. She was a duchess, like her mother, first lady of the realm after the king's own blood and wife, and perhaps her own sister. She was allowed to wear cloth of gold and have her own ladies in waiting, something she would surely not take advantage of. She wanted to be Anne's lady of the bedchamber. She loved life as a courtier and would not give it up for servants and her own little court.

Once married, she would share her chambers with Bran- Charles, and that prospect filled Cat with both delight and terror. She would have to fulfil a wife's duties then, and the thought frightened her. To share a bed with him every night, that was exciting and daunting at the same time. What if he did not like her in that way? She was terribly inexperienced in all these matters although she had been in France. Perhaps he expected her to know these things? She would ask Anne. Or perhaps even her sister- Elizabeth knew what was going on in the bedchamber, and perhaps the only person apart from Anne who would not gossip about her.

She would come back to court for the wedding, Cat's only living sibling. A few cousins would be invited, her father's younger sister, Lady Huntingdon, would be one of the witnesses, but apart from that, most of the guests would be fellow courtiers. Anne Stanhope, Lady Margaret Lee, Jane Seymour and the other maids, even Lucy Talbot and Margery Horsman would be invited, although neither had recovered from the shock yet. Of course, the whole Boleyn-Howard family would be in attendance as well as some of the other old families. Henry Percy feigned illness, so it would be his brother's turn to represent the family. Francis was of course not invited. Yes, it promised to be a very public and very extravagant affair and Cat was looking forward to it with mixed feelings. They would marry after the summer progress, then move to one of their country estates for a month or two, to spend time with the children and to try and beget some more. The thought alone made her blush and sweat. _Very suave, that is surely exactly what he finds attractive: A blushing, sweating fool._ Perhaps it would have been easier if she had not loved Brandon. Certainly. But now, with a heart overflowing with love for him, she feared his affection would cool, like it had so often for so many women. Surely, a man like him expected more than others in the bedchamber, there were so many she had to compete with.

Catherine could not put those thoughts to rest, but in the overall bliss that was her constant companion these days, it was easy to ignore all doubts. Until the king insisted on showing them their newly furnished quarters.

As a married couple of high rank and great fortune, they would have grand quarters, naturally, more spacious than Brandon's old ones, with two seperate dressing chambers, a study, a dining room, a reception room, a private parlour and an airy bedchamber with a beautiful new bed, a gift from the king. Catherine tried not to stare at it when she entered the room with Charles, the king, Anne, and a few courtiers, but of course, that very item of furniture was the subject of a great many rather bawdy jokes that only stopped when Anne intervened. Brandon had laughed them off as he did with everything but his hand had found Cat's and he squeezed it reassuringly- But what kind of reassuring was it? Was he telling her not to mind those jokes because he knew how inexperienced she was? Or was he trying to be as intimate as possible in a crowd of courtiers to show her he couldn't wait for their wedding night? She would have almost withdrawn her hand out of confusion when the king addressed her:

"You will of course retain your lady-in-waiting chambers. They will come in handy when Charles bothers you too much." Henry laughed. "And the Queen-" now he looked at Anne "will have need of you."

The present Queen Katherine was very kind and Cat did not even try to ignore the stab of guilt that was far more violent than usually.

"I hope your marriage will not distract you too much from your duties, Lady Catherine." The Queen had said in a light, joking tone, but Cat had felt the full weight of the accusation. Yes, Anne had distracted her from her duties. She had not been a good maid of honour- and she would not be a good lady in waiting to Katherine either. She had sided with the king and Anne long ago, something the Queen had forgiven, yet surely not forgotten.

The Queen would not accompany them on their summer progress, she would spent the hot days in London or at Ludlow with her daughter if Henry allowed her to. It did not look like it though, she had angered him too much in the past months, nor was she about to relent now. Henry did not like it at all when people did not give in to his wishes.

Catherine would not see the Spanish princess for a while and once back at court, Cat would not serve Katherine anymore, she would be a duchess then and would no longer have to serve. She would be with Anne most of the time then. Many things had been left unsaid between her and her namesake, the beautiful Spanish princess that had once stolen the king's heart, a long time ago when Cat and Anne had still played Ladies and Knights with their dolls.

She was no longer the beautiful princess, she was an aged queen now, neither quite Spanish but not English either, and effectively without friends on both sides of the sea. Her nephew, the Emperor, had threatened Henry, then kissed his boots, threatened him again, always depending on the state of his friendship with the continental rulers. Cat was fully aware that Charles V would never do more than threaten Henry- his aunt was an old, now infertile woman that had failed her family. No son of Spain would ever sit the English throne and she had lost all influence over her lord husband. She was no longer of use to him, no matter how many loving letters he tried to send to her (most of them were intercepted anyway), his deeds failed to fulfil the promise of his words. Katherine of Aragon's days were over and Catherine would have told her to give up, withdraw to a nunnery or a country estate with her daughter, spent her last ten or twenty years near the coast, become a patron of the arts or study Greek, live like an independent woman, free from husband, sons, brothers and father. But who was she to presume to lecture a queen?

She should have told the queen that she had never stopped admiring her for her strength of character, that she knew very well that she did not deserve the kindness Katherine had shown her, that she knew that she had been a disloyal maid-of-honour but that she had loved her Queen nonetheless- just not as much as Anne. That all was a terribly feeble excuse though with the sole purpose of making her own heart lighter and if Katherine of Aragon had taught her something, then that there was no room for a selfish heart at her court.

So Catherine smiled and told her queen that she would bring her wild flowers and that she hoped that His Majesty would allow her to be with her daughter.

"I thank you, my lady. If the Lord is willing, we will all have a joyful summer," she smiled.

Catherine thought of Anne and Henry, of Anne's giddy laugh only a few days ago, when she had told her about Brandon.

"I will pray for you, Your Majesty."

"I thank you, Lady Catherine."

 **~o~**

The melancholy that had taken hold of Cat in the Queen's empty chambers was soon gone, Anne's presence had melted it like early frost. That was, until she brought up a rather unpleasant topic.

"Your future husband does not approve of me." Anne smiled but her eyes remained cool.

Of course Catherine was aware of the slight grudge Charles harboured for Anne but she was certain that once the Dowager Princess Katherine was away from court, he would warm up to his new queen.

"He is very fond of Katherine but once he gets to know you better, he will see what a wonderful queen you make."

"He warned Henry. And he told him about certain rumours circulating at court. Rumours about Thomas Wyatt and Henry Percy."

That was not good at all. Thomas Wyatt had only been an admirer but Henry Percy had been more than that. Anne had loved him, Anne had taken the ring and made a pledge. She had been betrothed in the eyes of God and men, although with Percy's wedding, that pledge had become invalid. And still, it would be better if Henry did not find out how serious her attachment to Northumberland's son had been, he was a jealous man and unforgiving, a rather inconvenient combination in this case.

The Cardinal had long been silenced but there was no secret that could be kept forever, at least not at court.

"What did you say?"

"I denied it. But you need to tell Brandon to never repeat these accusations or I swear, I will have him banished."

Cat had always found that Anne looked most impressive when she was angry. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why Henry loved to fight with her.

"Do not say that, Nan. Brandon is as influential as you are."

"Not with the king, not at the moment. And if he presumes to defame me-"

"He won't," said Catherine, not sure whether she was actually in the position tell him what to do.

"I love you, Cat, and for your sake, I am willing to overlook his occasional lack of respect. But this time he is seriously attacking me and my position."

"He was not attacking you, Anne. It was only a warning, he repeated rumours that had already been in circulation anyway, just that they weren't very interesting back then. Half the court knows you had a dalliance with Percy and the whole court has heard at least one of Wyatt's love poems. You even encouraged his attentions." Anger was slowly rising in her chest. Charles would never gossip like a fishwife, he had his reasons for this warning, Cat would only have to explain Anne's behaviour and all would be well. "He thinks only about the king's wellbeing."

"His Majesty's wellbeing is my concern now, not his. It won't be long and I will be his queen."

Catherine would have liked to defend Charles once again but if Anne was ready to drop the issue (the rather clumsy attempt to change the topic told her that much), then Cat would not hold a grudge.

"Not long? So Henry has found a way?"

"The new priest I told you about, my chaplain, Cranmer."

Cat remembered the man, small and slight with a growing bald spot in his dark hair, but sharp eyes that seemed to always dart from one end of the room to the other and gave him the appearance of a scared but very observant rabbit. He was an unassuming person but perhaps that was his strength.

"What of him?"

"He will be made Archbishop of Canterbury when Warham dies."

Archbishop Warham was one of Katherine's staunchest supporters and one of Anne's most fervent opponents. He refused to accept any changes in the doctrine of the church or the law of Rome- and he was old, well beyond eighty probably. It was only a matter of time.

Cranmer on the other hand was a Reformer at heart, although he was so quiet that only very few members of the court were aware of that. Clement was surely ignorant and would accept Henry's suggestion, eager to show him his good will in any other matter but the king's Great Matter.

"And he will rule according to the new law, he will agree with the German scholars and declare Henry and Katherine's marriage null and void."

"That he will." Anne lowered her voice. "By the end of the summer, Katherine will no longer live at court. I will have her rooms, her crown jewels- I would have her gowns, but they won't fit me. Right now, the king has new furniture made for me, I chose a couple of tapestries with him yesterday and he sent for rugs from the Ottomans."

Catherine saw that Anne tried to keep her composure but finally, she gave up and let out a rather unregal giggle, not the victorious, superior smile that she would show the other courtiers. This giggle spoke of all the tension, the despair, the doubts she had been through. Her dream was within reach and she had made it possible with all her power. She would of course never show anyone but Cat how much the ordeal had cost her and how hard she had fought for this victory. For everyone else, it would seem effortless, as if everything had gone just as she had planned it.

"And then you will marry and he'll make you queen?"

"Not yet, no. He might advance me in a different way- But I do not know yet. As soon as Warham dies, it is settled though, he will make me his queen. Oh, I wish it was tomorrow-" The smile froze on her face. "No, I will not pray for his death. I will try it your way this time, then the Lord will surely show me kindness. Aren't the patient always rewarded? You have been, after all."

This time, her smile was genuine.

"You and Brandon will spend your honeymoon in the countryside, won't you? Will you stay at Westhorpe or move to Thornbury?"

Cat had no idea. Thornbury was awe-inspiring, yes, but it was a house that was decorated and furnished to impress and not for comfort. She had spent a rather unhappy childhood there after her mother's death and Thornbury Castle would forever be linked to her father's ill fate.

Catherine was not fond of living at Westhorpe either, where the ghost of Mary Tudor still wandered the halls and every room whispered her name. No, Catherine had liked the house as a guest, but she would never be its mistress. She already had to share her husband with the dead princess, she did not want to have to share her home with her, too, though she would never tell Brandon. Charles. But where else? Her mother had loved Kentwell in summer, the lakes and wild flowers. It had been her permanent residence when her health had become fragile. Still, Kentwell was not a fitting primary residence for the Duke of Suffolk and she was unsure whether she wanted to live in a house that was still haunted by ghosts and memories, even if they were happy.

"My favourite house had always been Penshurst."

Penshurst with its sprawling gardens and airy rooms that were not stuffed with hangings and furniture from her great-grandfather. The house was grand and stately but comfortable, with large chambers and entertainment facilities, hunting grounds and a lodge, a maze (she was very fond of mazes as of lately) and a ballroom large enough to host even a royal ball. Yes, perhaps Penshurst. It was not far from London either, but still far enough to remain untouched by the plague and the sweat. The children could move there and she and Charles could travel from court to Penshurst once every fortnight and spend a quiet week there.

"That would be a good choice," Anne agreed. "You should tell him that you would rather not live at Westhorpe, men can often be rather ignorant about these things. Henry did not understand why it angered me that he had given me one of Katherine's old discarded necklaces- You do though, don't you?"

Of course she did. But Anne was jealous of a still influential and potentially threatening Queen while Cat envied a dead lady whose only crime was that she was better than Catherine in everything she had ever touched. An accomplished musician and poet, hailed by everyone as the greatest beauty of Christendom, a princess and a Queen, most beloved by her brother, desired by all the great monarchs of the continent. How was she to compete with the perfect Mary Tudor? Even in death, she overshadowed her.

"I understand." Cat forced herself to smile and as so often, Anne knew what she was thinking.

"He loves you, Cat. More than the king's sister-"

"You don't know that."

"Of course I do! He never fought for Mary Tudor, he never asked her to marry him, everyone knows that. She persuaded him to break his word and marry her and he was not happy for long. But for you he fought, he gave everything he had, he risked his reputation, his title and position to save you although you had given him no reason to hope. If you ask for more, you do risk appearing ungrateful." Anne gave her a crooked smile.

"God forbid either of us might ever be ungrateful- Wait. I have a feeling like one of us is."

"The heart wants what the heart wants." Anne said with a condescending smile.

"Now, and you fancy yourself a poet?" Catherine asked, one eyebrow arched disapprovingly.

"At least I never rhymed love with glove." Anne gave back. Catherine might have once committed that sacrilege, years ago when they had still been in France.

"It wasn't _that_ bad," she insisted.

"You are lucky that you are so pretty, or Brandon might not even have considered you."

"Perhaps he just likes women that are _friendly_. Quite unlike the king." Cat crossed her arms.

"Friendly." Anne snorted. "Next you call yourself Catherine the Gracious."

"That doesn't sound too bad actually." She had to smile. "You always succeed in lightening my mood."

"By poking fun at you? I know, you are a strange person." Now Anne's smile faded to a more serious expression. "Just as you can always make me see the silver lining, no matter how dark the night is." She kissed her on both cheeks.

"But enough of this bad poetry, we should join His Majesty, he wants to discuss the summer progress."

Henry was indeed as giddy as a child before Christmas, though perhaps not only because of the summer progress. He approved every single suggestion Anne made with a wide grin.

"And I want to take the new ship out the harbour. It has been too long since I've seen the sea, I want to taste the salt on my lips. Do you remember it, Cat? Everytime Francis launched a ship, he would take his courtiers and we would dance until the planks were smoothed and footworn."

Yes, Catherine did remember that, though a bit differently. "I remember how Madame La Trevoille couldn't keep down the expensive wine."

Henry laughed. "See, darling, you are idealising your time in France. But as you wish. If you want to dance on a ship's deck, that is what we will do. We will need quite few new ships for our-" he didn't finish the sentence, only smiled, and none of the courtiers present dared to ask. Catherine knew what he meant because Anne had told her only a few days ago. They would go to France, and Anne would go as the king's betrothed and future wife. The exact date was not set yet, in fact, it was only a vague agreement with Francis so far, but Henry couldn't contain himself of course, and had to hint at the bliss that he was expecting.

 **~o~**

 **Whitehall Palace**

 **Charles**

 **~o~**

He was already in a bad mood to start with and for once, Catherine didn't lift his spirits. Henry had reacted to his warning like an angry bull and not talked to him in private since. Instead, Charles had to endure Mistress Anne's icy gaze and the fine superior smile that he had come to loathe so much. Not to mention her graspnig father and arrogant brother.

"Do you have a moment?" Charles knew Catherine well enough to see that she was nervous although her voice was calm and her tone ostensibly casual. He had a feeling this conversation would be about said lady. It was certainly true what they said: No one could escape her these days.

"What is the matter?" He tried to smile blithely but failed.

"It is about Anne. She said you repeated some of the outdated rumours about her?"

He ground his teeth. _She would put it that way._ "I warned my friend and king of a lady that seems to have a rather turbulent past."

"Anne is as virtuous as me."

That did make him smile. Catherine, despite her wit and sharp tongue, was guileless and innocent and as virtuous as the Virgin Mary, he did not doubt it. Her friend on the other hand was certainly everything but that. Rumours had it that she was guilty of the poison attack on Bishop Fisher and she had certainly made sure that Wolsey met an untimely end. She used her wit and charm to her own advantage and for her family's advancement, no matter the cost. Lady Anne Rochford was ruthless, recklessly ambitious and naturally arrogant and Charles had no idea why Catherine was so attached to her. Nothing good would come out of Henry's obsession and the king's heart would bleed, no doubt.

"I am certain." He did not want to fight with her, and least of all about the Boleyn girl.

"Now you are patronising me. You repeat rumours and have no other foundation for your accusations but _court gossip_?"

The way she said it made him feel petty and which in turn made him angry.

"I have eyes, my lady. And ears. I see what she has done to Henry-"

She interrupted him, her cheeks flushed and eyes shining with anger: "The king is a man in love!" _A man with an obsession, more like it, but who am I to judge?_

"Yes. Perhaps. Still, will you deny that Lady Anne was far too intimate with Percy? The whole court saw that the boy was mad in love and some whisper that there was a contract."

She was a good liar, his little betrothed, but apparently, not to him. She blushed.

"So there _was_ a contract." That did rouse his interest.

"Percy promised to marry her." Catherine admitted. "But it is invalid, he married Mary Talbot and thereby set Anne free. You must promise never to mention it to the king. Anne loves Henry with all her heart. You do not know her. Wyatt would have licked her boots clean if she had asked him to but she never wanted it-"

"Oh, yes, of course she did. She encouraged every man's attentions, you know she did." There had been a brief period of time when Mistress Anne had tried to flirt with him. But Charles had had his share of ambitious women and the younger Boleyn girl had always made him wary.

"It's what we women are taught! You cannot fault her for it. You can go and gallivant and flirt and more and no one will ever hold it against you. Everything Anne did was flirting, if at all, and now, years later, you make an obstacle out of it and call her unchaste."

That did touch a raw nerv, especially because had indeed done all the things she accused him of and there had never been repercussions for him, apart from a bad conscience from time to time that was easily suppressed.

"So I should take your word for it that Lady Anne is as virtuous as she claims to be? I should take your word for it that her alleged feelings for the king are not the result of her ambition?"

"Yes!"

It was hardly her fault. She had spent half her life with Anne Boleyn, of course she would defend her. But she would certainly not lie to him, or would she? Perhaps the lady was indeed innocent. Or perhaps she had just hidden her clandestine rendezvous from Catherine as well.

"I will not repeat those accusations then." He wouldn't have anyway. The doubt was sowed. All Henry had to do was open his eyes. There was nothing Charles could do. He was still far from convinced that Anne Boleyn was good for the king or good for England, but his influence on the king was non-existent when it came to his sweetheart.

Catherine smiled as if that settled the issue.

"Good. It would grieve me if you disliked her. I have very little family left and we have always been close."

"I do not dislike her." That was not quite true. But he did not hate her either. Charles was only deeply suspicious of her, her family and their ulterior motives and if he had a say in it, that Boleyn girl would never wear Henry's ring on her finger and the crown on her head. But, alas, he didn't and the king was adamant, so why should he risk his own luck ?

"Good." She squeezed his hand and Charles pulled her close to kiss her. What did he care about the Boleyns? If they wanted, they could conquer all the beds of England, as long as they left him in peace.

"I better go packing."

She blushed prettily, his soon to be wife. Charles could hardly wait for their wedding. And their wedding night, in all truth. He even dreamt of it quite vividly sometimes. He couldn't remember that he had ever desired a woman enough to wait for her for years but now, even though it was his little wildcat he was waiting for, his patience was wearing thin. He had never stayed abstinent for so long, but he knew he would have waited twice as long if he had to. She was worth it. Yes, just thinking about the two month wait ahead drove him mad sometimes, but it helped to remember that their wedding day was only the beginning. After the wedding they would go to Westhorpe and see the children, and try to have one of their own, and those would be blissful days, he was certain. Charles had already sent a messenger to Westhorpe to make sure everything was ready for their arrival. A portrait had to be removed, the rooms on the first floor had to be redecorated, he had commissioned new furniture and a new bed for the main bedchamber. He had also left instructions to clean out Mary's music room and make it into a schoolroom for the children.

Henry had gladly accepted Charles' offer, he would take the portrait for his private gallery and the instruments for his own daughter Mary.

Charles did not want Catherine to feel like a guest in the grand house, or worse, like the second choice. He could only imagine how frightening it must be to feel like you had to follow in Mary Tudor's footsteps and he wanted to make sure that she knew no one wanted her to. He had told her his feelings and it was not in his nature to repeat those kinds of confessions but he would if she still wasn't aware that for him, she was the first in many ways and that with her he felt as if he had truly opened his eyes for the first time. _Better don't phrase it like that, or she'll take you for a Wyatt._ She had little patience for the wordy and the dramatic, another thing they had in common.

Yes, Charles could hardly wait to go home as a married man with Catherine as his wife by his side. In time, she would make the house her home, he hoped.

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**

 **~o~**

The court left early the next day for Tyttenhangar in Hertfordshire and would move from there to the coast, as Anne had wished. They would not go to Dover, Henry decreed, because it was a densely populated town where many strangers arrived everyday, all potentially carrying one of the diseases Henry had every right to fear. Instead, the ship would be brought to them.

Catherine liked Tyttenhangar, but she loved the coast even more. It consisted of tall cliffs and sandy beaches and Cat ruined two pairs of brand new shoes with sand and seawater. She hoped her seamstress could still save some of her gowns.

Another advantage of the location was that she and Brandon could take long strolls along the beach or cliffs without company. In the palace gardens, there was always a pair of eyes and ears following them but here, they were truly alone.

They had slipped away silently once again, left the other courtiers dancing, singing and feasting in a small natural bay surrounded by cliffs. These rocks now shielded them from view as they walked along the beach, waves lapping at their feet from time to time.

"This is the fifth dress I have ruined because of you."

"You'll make us poor." Charles grinned. "Perhaps I should carry you then?"

"Oh, don't bother, it is already ruin- Ah."

He had grasped at her waist but she had taken a sideward step- and was now ankle deep in seawater.

"It is reassuring to know that you are not that much cleverer after all," he grinned.

"I still adhere to my previous statement that this is your fault."

"My future wife is truly absolutely self-opinionated- There you are, wet feet and everything, two steps away from me and still claim this is my fault?"

Catherine stalked out of the water. "I am not quite sure about the future wife, Your Grace. You are talking as if you would like to lose her before you even gave her a ring."

Her feet were wet and sticky, there was sand in her shoes and the wetness was slowly rising up her stockings. She would need to change her footwear or go barefoot- but the former was rather impractical and the latter absolutely scandalous.

Charles did not look as if he took her threat seriously. "I am not sure why but somehow I like it when you threaten me."

"That is because you know you do not deserve better." Cat sat down on a rock that had been ground smooth by the sea over the years and tried to shake the sand out of her shoes under her skirt as gracefully as possible- which was not very gracefully at all.

"I certainly know that I do not deserve better than you." He sat down next to her and watched her unsuccessful attempt.

"Is it the sand? Shall I?"

What, get his hands under her skirt? Certainly not. She had not asked Anne or Elizabeth yet and until then, all endeavours of that sort would have to wait.

"No, thank you." It wasn't so bad. Many poorer women often wore shoes that were too tight or uncomfortable. Cat would ignore it. "It's alright."

A smile that was not meant for her to see darted over his face, a little too amused, a little too smug for her taste.

"Perhaps we should go b-"

"We should at least wait until your dress has dried." He did have a point there.

Brandon handed her a wineskin. "In case you're thirsty?"

She was, actually. The wine was warm but still good and she felt better after a few sips.

"It is very beautiful here." The waves that came in crashing on the beach seemed to change colour, from dark blue, to green to a pale grey, seagulls were crying over their heads and from time to time, a larger bird cast a shadow on the sand. There was a trade galley out there, she thought, though she couldn't see much more than the mast. They were surrounded by high, reddish brown cliffs on three sides and only a narrow band of golden sand linked them to the neighbouring bay and the rest of their assembly.

"It is." Brandon put his hand on hers quite casually. It was warm but not sweaty. "We should have a painting commissioned." _We._ Her heart skipped a beat.

"Yes. For the parlour." It still felt strange. She was now a lady that was part of a 'we' and had a parlour and paintings. He squeezed her hand.

"I would like you to sit for a portrait, if you want, of course."

That did startle her, partly because she still remembered the portrait of Queen Mary in Westhorpe.

"Why?"

He laughed.

"Don't you think we should have a wedding portrait painted? And when Holbein is at it, I would like him to paint you on your own, and perhaps one or two miniatures."

"What would we do with that many paintings of me?"

"I would like to put the portrait in the art collection at Westhorpe. And our wedding portrait- well, perhaps there'll be another free wall in our parlour?" He was still smiling.

"I would rather not stare at my own face when I'm trying to read."

"You should be staring at my face and I at yours." His hand wandered from her fingers to her waist. "But if you would rather not be painted, that is fine." He leant against the stone behind them. Was he disappointed? Cat knew she could not compete with Mary- would he put the portrait up next to the Queen's?

"No, if you would like-"

"Since when are you doing things to please me? Don't start now, it confuses me."

He kissed her and Cat's heart had not found its steady rhythm again when he started speaking.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have- it's just that I already made room for the image in Westhorpe. Henry has always wanted to have a Holbein painting of his sister."

A wave of thankfulness and embarrassment swept over her. He knew exactly what the issue was without asking

"Don't ever think you are the last in a long row, Catherine. You are the very first. I thought I loved Mary, I truly did. But it all pales in comparison to this." He took her hand again. "I know it's not easy for you but never doubt that I love you."

"I don't doubt it." Cat said to the waves but he gently lifted her chin so that she had to look him in the eye.

"If you would rather wait-" he started but that was not at all what Catherine would rather do.

"No. I don't. It's just- my first marriage."

He did seem to find that funny and Cat had to laugh, too.

"It will be our last," he muttered, his lips now very close to her ear.

"Hopefully."

"Always the optimist, aren't you?" His crooked smirk was still irresistible and Cat, emboldened by his declaration, kissed him. It was completely inappropriate and she enjoyed every moment. Surely, her father, mother, siblings, her whole long line of noble ancestors were shouting indignantly at the sight. If they had made it to heaven, that was.

But this here felt as perfect as paradise: Brandon had not objected in the slightest, obviously, his hands had wrapped around her waist and pulled her so close that she was almost sitting on his lap, now one hand crept to her clothed knee and Cat felt the pulling sensation in her stomach again. Her hands had started their own expedition, right there on the beach in broad daylight, she had one hand on his broad chest, the other in his hair. His kisses were still heavenly and Cat felt dizzy although she had had only a few sips of wine. Charles' hand left her knee now and lifted the fabric of her skirt. The cooler air touched foot, ankle, then shin and finally her knee but she had not objected yet. This was absolutely wrong, of course she was aware of that. And yet, when his warm, slightly rough fingers caressed the pale, soft, untouched skin above her knee, Cat only sucked in her breath. His fingers lingered there, long enough to make her almost forget, then they crept up, not even an inch, but enough to startle her. Everything above that point was decidedly immoral and more than just indecent: She suddenly felt dirty.

"No." Her one hand pushed him away, the other tugged at the hem of her skirt that was now stiff from sand and salt.

Her cheeks burned and although she had done the right thing, embarrassment bloomed in her chest because she had rejected him, her heart stumbled and she couldn't look at him.

"I will go back to the others." She had already gotten up, determined to get away as quickly as possible, partly out of shame and partly out of anger. He shouldn't have-

"Forgive me." He did not touch her now but blocked her way to the secluded bay where Anne and Henry would surely wait impatiently for their return.

"I shouldn't have-" He swallowed and Catherine risked a quick look at his face only to be shocked again. He had gone red as a beetroot, his mouth was a flat, angry line and he had raised both hands as if he couldn't decide what to do with them. Was he angry at her or angry at himself?

"I got carried away, I'm sorry, that was- I never meant to- It will never happen again, I promise."

He looked like a forlorn little boy that had been caught doing something naughty. He looked sorry, more than that, he was full of regret.

"Sometimes I just don't think, I-"

Cat took his hand.

"Neither did I. Think, I mean. I'm sorry." That was not enough. "It is only a short wait now, not quite two months."

He smiled quizzically. "Yes, forgive me. It will not happen again."

And it did not happen again indeed, much to Catherine's chargin.

His kisses had lost all ferventness after that incident on the beach. Their encounters were chaste and even when they danced, he was careful where he put his hands. That was not what she had wanted at all- and so, after a late night discussion with Anne, she asked him to pick her up in her chambers. Compared to his, they were modest, but she had been quite happy here.

"Shall we go downstairs?" He stood in the door, his handsome smile was the same, the softness of his gaze as well. He still loved her, but he was careful now, too careful. In two months, they would be married. She didn't want careful, this felt as if they had already been married for twenty years. She wanted the thrill and anticipation- without the ultimate sin. She wanted to be a little more prepared.

"In a minute. Could you help me with this necklace?"

Of course he didn't say no. He closed the door and stepped behind her. She wore no hood today and had pulled down the bodice of her dress a little more than necessary to offer him a good view.

She felt his fingers at the nape of her neck, brushing away her hair, then fumbling with the clasp. Only when he had closed it did she turn around.

"Thank you." She took her time, looked squarely into his blue eyes, savoured the excitement that came with knowing what was about to happen, traced the outline of his shoulder with one hand, cupped his cheek with the other, and then, she kissed him. He tried to pull back after a moment but she kept his face pressed to hers and it didn't take long for him to take the hint and kiss her back. Cat sank down on an upholstered bench, ready to pull out another stop if he was. His fingers were in her hair, tousling the carefully arranged curls but she was beyond caring.

After another few minutes, she gingerly laid his hand on her knee, absolutely nervous about his reaction.

Charles Brandon was generally said to be slow on the uptake but this time, he understood with remarkable speed. His hand wandered up and down her cloth-covered leg, then up the bodice to the jewelled neckline. He did not try to squeeze his hand into the bodice like a digger, he merely caressed the visible part of her breasts, then broke the kiss long enough to nibble at her earlobe and kiss her neck very softly. She let out a sound that was half gasp, half moan when he did, because at the same time, the hand had slowly raised her skirts, and, when there was no objection from her, tenderly touched the soft skin of her thigh. His hand stayed there, only an inch above her knee, his fingers drew idle circles on her skin but never wandering upwards as they had before.

Charles' breathing was heavy and far too quick and the hand at her waist was trembling. Catherine was not a fool, she knew that this aroused him, heavens, it did arouse her.

Following a sudden urge that was decidedly unladylike, she put both hands on his chest and climbed on his lap, skirt ridden up to the knees to reveal her pure white stockings.

He gasped at her lips and pulled her closer but his hand still stayed where it was, not wandering further.

Catherine was as out of breath as he was when he finally gave her a gentle push.

"We need to stop now or I'll lose the last bit of sanity, little wildcat." His voice was hoarse and his eyes were almost black. Cat climbed off his lap though not without noticing that his body had reacted to the closeness as well.

"You might want to-" He gestured towards her crumpled skirts, the loosened bodice and her tousled hair. "Wait."

And he helped her smooth out the fabric of her dress, brushing over her legs and backside in the process and Cat let out a very embarrassing gasp of surprise whereupon he kissed her again, more chastely this time but not as chastely as before.

"You have bewitched me, Catherine Stafford, and you will find that that is against the law." he mumbled into her ear. "But you are lucky: I enjoy your enchantment so much that I will not report you."

"Then I have cause to be grateful, Your Grace," she whispered back playfully, her fingers digging into the fabric of his doublet.

"We should go, wildcat. As much as I would love spending the night with my hand half up your skirt- Ouch!" He jumped backwards when she slapped him lightly on the chest. "I deserved that. As much as I would love it, we are expected. But whenever you would like me to fasten your necklace-" This time, he caught the hand that was about to hit him, and pulled her close to press a last kiss onto her lips. "I'm always at your service, mademoiselle."

"Well, your French is far better than I would have thought." Cat smirked and Charles rubbed his forehead in feigned despair. "And she mocks me again. Does this ordeal have no end?"

"I am your odyssey, I fear."

"You are both the journey and the safe harbour, Catherine." He took her hand.

"Now, we should look respectable." Cat brushed his hair away from his face with her fingers.

"A little better. I fear this is as good as it gets."

He tickled her for that until she squealed.

"Now, your hair. I like it that way, truly-"

"Only because it were your hands that created this crow's nest." He looked far too smug when she tried to brush out the knots quickly and rearranged the jewelled headpiece with his assistance.

"There." He kissed her on the head. "The future Duchess of Suffolk, looking respectable for once."

"I think I might be happy with being a Countess as well," Cat retorted with a smile as they walked down the stairs together.

"I'll talk to Henry on the morrow, he'll make me an Earl, I promise."

Shortly before the reached the Great Hall, he let go of her hand reluctantly.

"Save me every dance."

"Every second dance," Cat replied sternly.

"Is that how quickly your love for me deteriorates?" He looked as if he wanted to kiss her again.

"But so be it. Your wish is my command. Mistress Horsman there looks rather lonely. Do you think she would like to dance?"

"Are you trying to make me jealous?"

"Does it work?" He smirked.

"Perhaps a little."

"Good. I'll be over there with the king like the spurned lover that I am. But be warned, I insist on dancing every second one with you."

"That is rather bold considering your talent on the dancefloor. Do you not fear your bride will run away?"

He gave her an easy smile and pulled her close for all to see. "Actually, Lady Catherine, I do not. She could have had almost every man in this room, and yet she chose me. There must be something about me she liked. Perhaps it is my skill on the dancefloor-"

Catherine swayed her head.

"Or perhaps it is my title." Charles grinned. "Either way, my lovely bride will not run, I'm quite certain. I promise, I'll be as meek as a lamb."

Catherine snorted.

"You should save the fairy tales for the children, Charles."

She had not meant the children _they_ would have, neither had she meant to call him Charles, both had just slipped past her lips.

And Charles rewarded her with a smile that was neither smirk nor smug. He squeezed her hand a bit too tightly. "I will, little wildcat."

* * *

The next chapter will have an actual plot, I promise^^. I couldn't find a royal manor that was close to the sea but far from a town and I didn't want to make one up so I just didn't name a location. We are in the years 1531/32 now, roughly at least. So much for historical correctness, I guess.

 **xenocanaan, Child of Dreams, unique16, impala winchester salvatore, dear guests** : Thnaks for your feedback! I'm so relieved you liked the last chapter. It was terribly cheesy in parts and I'm happy you were satisfied nonetheless. I am an inexhaustible source of drama and fluff and I promise there will be more of both ahead.

 **Princess07890** : Thank you for reviews! I confirm your suspicion, there will be a wedding next chapter, unless a catastrophe precedes it, that is^^.

 **Guest** : Charles' dislike for Anne has been the cause for some trouble in the past and I fear it might be a source of drama in the future...Perhaps. Thank you!

 **pulchritudo in omnia** : (A great name by the way!) Oh, I was so happy about your review and I can totally relate, I'm in a constant Tudors phase. I also feel honoured that someone who is apparently very well informed about the historical facts reads my now absolutely AU story that tried to squeeze in a better bride for Brandon^^. I do like Catherine Willoughby but she was his son's betrothed and all and come on, that's just not very satisfying.

There might be a bitter, or perhaps rather a semi-sweet happy ending, I'm not sure yet. As much as I love drama, I love fluff as well, that's my burden. I absolutely love Anne, she was so much more than the woman who sparked the Anglican Church or Henry's wife and we only ever see her flirty and political side which is sad. I wanted to show her from all angles and that involves Catherine's as much as Henry's and Brandon's. I always plan to have Henry speak to Charles about his feelings for Anne and then I get carried away because all the drama needs to be written too but I promise, we'll see his point of view soon, too, especially because I have to catch up on world politics now. Thank you for that absolutely lovely review, it really gave me extra motivation to finish this chapter soon.

 **ShinyRedPenny** : It's nice to hear from you again, and just when I was about to update! I'm so glad you like my version of Anne because I really, really want to do her justice. Thank you for your review!


	21. Chapter 21 - Rated M

I am so sorry for the long wait. I really don't think this chapter is very good and worked on it for a while. I really suck at writing marriages and sexual content and this is the evidence. I will not include more sexual encounters in the future chapters, it's just not my thing.

Anyway, here you go. As always, I am grateful for all comments, favs and follows. Also please feel free to criticise and make suggestions!

* * *

 **Catherine**

 **~o~**

She wore a gown of cream satin and cloth of gold, her hair cascaded down her back in lazy ringlets and she wore a headpiece of gold and diamonds the king had given her as a gift. She looked pretty today.

"You look very much like mother." On this special day, Elizabeth had apparently resolved to hold her tongue. Cat couldn't find much resemblance in all honesty but she appreciated the kindness. It wasn't easy for Elizabeth, that much was certain. Her young sister would surpass her and that had always been her greatest fear.

Thank you, Elizabeth."

Her sister did not look bad either in a fine new gown of red velvet with a jewelled gable hood that lent her figure an air of earnest dignity. Anne on the other hand, dressed in deep royal blue satin, looked French and capricious and extravagant.

The chapel bells rang. It was time.

While Anne and Elizabeth hurried to the chapel to take their seats in the first row, King Henry was in the hall, ready to escort her to the altar inher father's stead. The way to the chapel was lined by rose bushes and cheering servants and Catherine smiled at them brightly. Charles was waiting for her in the chapel, a ring for her in his pocket, ready to spend the rest of his life with her. The king's strong fingers guided her towards the oaken double doors, page boys in the Duke of Suffolk's livery pushed them open for her. everyone rose when she entered but she never saw them. An odd, bubbly feeling rose in her stomach, she wanted to run towards him and withdraw at the same time. She would marry him and there was no way out.  
Unbidden, her father came to her mind. He wouldn't have approved. He was surely disappointed in her: Not only had she given up her pursuit of the lands and title that had been forfeited but were, according to his own distorted worldview, his by right and birth. No, she had also dared to marry a commoner, the son of a standard bearer who bore an absolutely undistinguished last name and spoke neither Latin nor Greek. A man whose ancestry consisted of merchants at best and beggars at worst, who had made his fortune with sports, drinking and gambling, according to Edward Stafford. She had abandoned every principle her father had indoctrinated into her. She had abandoned many of the values and views she had grown up with, like a snake shedding its skin would she now shed her old colours and heraldry and take her husband's for her own. As custom decreed, Catherine Brandon's official coat of arms would still show her father's colours, on one half at least, but they incorporated the royal lion and flleur de lis and it was definitely dangerous to still use them, even when they formed only one eighth of her coat of arms. Instead, Catherine Brandon would, unimportant as she was, use her husband's coat of arms, the elegant heraldry that did not hide his humble beginnings.

Catherine Stafford had entered the chapel, with all her baggage and insecurities, her remorse and guilt, Catherine Brandon would leave it again, with her head held high and a bright future in front of her.

"Charles is lucky," the king whispered and squeezed her hand. "I will make sure he doesn't forget it."

"I am lucky, too, Your Majesty." Her eyes were on Charles and he, breaching protocol, turned around to look at her, too, despite the whispered reprimands from the archbishop. Charles flashed her a quick smile and then turned back around unhurried.

"And I will never forget it."

They walked past Anne, and Henry, even after all these years of courting, couldn't take his eyes off her. And Anne, even after all these years of courting, pretended not to see him until the very last moment. Cat caught the elegant, knowing smile Anne offered him at last. She was forever the perfect mummer.

If the Lord was kind, they would soon celebrate another wedding. He had shown Cat kindness and she prayed with all her heart that He would show Anne the same soon.

They finally reached the altar.

"You look beautiful." Charles didn't even bother to lower his voice.

"Well, isn't that the reason why we're here?" she whispered.

"It definitely isn't your sense of humour." He squeezed her hand.

"Or your personailty."

Bishop Warham gave them a bewildered but warning look while Henry next to them chuckled before he retreated.

Warham cleared his throat: "We are gathered here in the sight of God to join Charles and Catherine in holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocency, and is therefore not to be entered into lightly or inadvisably, but reverently, discreetly, and in the fear of God." The old Archbishop of Canterbury was concluding this mass, not Anne and Henry's favourite Cranmer, Charles had seen to that. Catherine was well aware that, despite his unwavering loyalty to his king, he was a Conservative at heart when it came to religion. Perhaps that was the only thing he had in common with her father.

Warham, now past eighty, leant heavily on a walking cane and a mass servant's shoulder but his voice had lost nothing of its dignity and weightiness. Despite his evident lack of humour, he was the priest Catherine would have chosen, too.

The ceremony seemed shorter now that she stood in front of the altar. Henry gave her away in her father's stead, Charles and she spoke their vows, he placed the wedding ring on the fourth finger of her left hand, a band of gold with an inscription that read _I am the pledge of loyal marriage and tender love_. It was plain English, not the fashionable French nor the intellectual Latin.

Warham concluded the ceremony by laying her hand in his: "So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let man not separate."

And they were married.

 **~o~**

 **Charles**

 **~o~**

He waited for her in the chapel, he and half the court. He had been married thrice before. His first two weddings had been humble affairs, his last had been too pompous by half. This time, it would be different. He had waited years for this day and had to smile when he remembered their beginnings. He had loathed her, at least he had convinced himself that he did, while at the same time, he had ignored the spell she had cast on him. Charles remembered her demeanour in France, when she had behaved just like her father. He remembered the frightened, pale, defiant girl that had come back from France, the one that had not looked away at her father's execution although her lip had trembled and her eyes had had a horrified look. He remembered her as a young woman in an old-fashioned, threadbare dress that had done nothing to hide her elegance and dignity. Her arrogance, pride and feistiness and the way she had mocked him from the very first day of her time at court.  
He on the other hand had been as annoying as a midget although he did remember that he had fancied himself both funny and irresistible and that her resistance against his charme had terribly annoyed him. Yes, they had had a rocky start, Charles summed their history up when the musicians started to play and the doors were opened.

She was there.

It would have been proper to wait for her. It was expected of him to just stare at old, sputtering Warham for half an eternity while she walked over to him. Charles was supposed to keep his eyes on Jesus- but even Jesus had a good view of her, just like everyone else in this chapel- everyone but him. And because Charles had never been one for traditions and customs, he turned around to look at her. Was she terrified? Would he find doubts in her green eyes? Or would she look happy?

She held her head high, walking at the king's side with slow, dignified strides but when she saw that he had turned around, she beamed at him. At Charles smiled back.

Her eyes darted from him to Warham and Charles heard the old man whisper some reprimand but he did not care. He took a long look at the rest of her, from the soles of her no doubt new shoes to the tip of her bejewelled headpiece. She had rarely looked more beautiful. The white made her glow and she looked even more innocent than usual. But her loose hair and the bodice that was as low cut as the church allowed spoke of something else too.

Charles was looking forward to the ceremony. He was looking forward to the reception. And he was definitely looking forward to the wedding night. Most of all though, he was looking for the years of marital bliss he could expect.

The Bishop said the same words that he had said all those years ago when it had been Mary at his side. Did she think about that now? He tried not to, and when he did, it was in Catherine's favour. She recited her vows not like a child would recite a poem but spoke the words as if she had invented them. She did not seem to care for the audience they had, not even for Warham. Catherine did vow to be bonny and buxom in bed and board but she did not promise to serve him, which was, according to the mumbled comments of the audience, a minor scandal. Charles wanted to tell her how much he liked that alteration but it was not the time nor the place. He would, later.

He himself spoke all the vows with more enthusiasm than ever and, as never before, he did not feel like someone just clipped his wings. Every single word was the truth.

He put the ring on her finger, a modest one in comparison to the one he had given Mary but the words in this one were different. _Amour pour toujours_ , Mary had chosen for her wedding ring and the words still tasted bitter after all this time. The words engraved on Catherine's were _I am the pledge of loyal marriage and tender love_ and he believed in this motto, although it was perhaps a little wordy. Charles had considered _passionate_ instead of _tender_ , because quite obviously, they both were far more passionate than they were tender. But his feelings for her were more than passion.

Warham spoke a few concluding words and they were wed. Charles had not taken his eyes off her. Catherine Brandon. He felt an odd sort of pride that she was now sharing his last name, that she had parted from a name as noble as Stafford just to be with him. That she had tarnished her reputation, her claim and her blood to marry him. He also felt a twinge of guilt.

"I must say, husband," she said on their way out, looking on the ring on her finger, "that I would have expected weddings to be more of an ordeal."

He smiled. "As with every other sport, it depends on the partner, wife."

She laughed. "I will just ignore this remark. Have you just compared our wedding to a game of tennis?"

"I might have. Anyway, it is too late to give up now." It wasn't actually, their marriage hadn't be consumed yet- and she seemed to remember that right now as well, judging by her expression.

Her smile was a little dimmer now. "Well, then I have no choice it seems."

Charles shouldn't have reminded her. By now he knew that she was frightened of their wedding night, afraid to do something wrong and he knew he had to blame his reputation, his past and his great appetite for this. He shouldn't have pushed her but he had been so eager. She was too proud to share her fears with him and he could not fault her for that although he wished she would. Charles had made it all worse by trying not to push her because she had, in fact, felt pushed away. Tonight, they would have the chance to approach the matter in a way Charles knew better. He would not fail her tonight. He would make her feel good about this, he would give her pleasure and he would remove all her doubts. She would know that she was the only one for him and that no other woman, neither dead nor living, was her equal.

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**

 **~o~**

The reception took place in Brandon's vast London house. The banqueting hall had been transformed into the scenery of a fairy tale, flowers hung from the high ceiling in garlands, they covered tables, walls, stairs, and hung over the doors in and there, she even found mistletoe.

"It is breathtaking."

"Nothing compared to you." He kissed her hand and she didn't even come up with a witty reply.

The food was excellent and the music was good. They danced every dance and for a few hours, Catherine could forget the mixture of anticipation, excitement and fear that was lodged deep inside her and resurfaced briefly everytime someone mentioned the bedding.

But then night came and with it the bedding.  
It was intimate, nothing Cat had to be scared of. Their guests were still celebrating a floor below them when the maid helped her out of her wedding dress and into the nightgown and robe, brushed her hair and put the expensive wedding jewels back into the casket.

Cat's heart was pounding in her chest when she finally told her guards that she was ready. Normally, the bridegroom would visit the bride, but Brandon (Charles, now) had told her to come when she was ready and she loved him even more for that. There was nothing she had to be scared of, really. All women had gone through it and nothing bad had ever happened. It would hurt but not so badly. It would be fine. He knew what he was doing.

"Good evening."

"Good evening."

He sat in an armchair, a goblet of wine in one hand, the other one resting on the back of the neighboring chair. Charles did not get up but gestured for her to sit down next to him.

"Wine?"

Cat nodded. He was still fully dressed while she wore only the thin wedding nightgown and a robe and that made her feel uneasy once again. _Everything makes you feel uneasy tonight, little coward that you are._ The nasty voice was right, unfortunately. The wine did not help much. She did not want to be drunk on her wedding night but the wine was thin anyway and far too sweet. Honeyed and watered down probably.

He chatted to her casually and she tried to respond lightly, but actually, she would have liked to get over with it. The quicker the better. No woman had ever claimed that her wedding night had been exceptionally wonderful. It was something you did to legitmise your wedding. The pleasure came later, if it ever came. She had half a mind to tell him to just get started when he took her goblet from her, put his hands on both sides of her neck and kissed her. It was far easier to lose herself in this. After a while, he pulled her over to him, then rose, very slowly, until they were both standing. She knew he was preparing everything and was grateful for it. She was not capable of being in charge right now.  
His hands moved from her neck to her shoulders, down her arms, he squeezed her hands, then rubbed idle circles on her back. Only when she had started to touch him too did he take it a step further. His hands opened the belt of her robe a tad too eagerly, his eyes dropped from her face to her body, barely hidden by the sheer silk.

"You are so beautiful, Catherine," he said hoarsely with his hands in her hair, his lips near her ear. Then his fingers slowly descended, kneaded the tense muscles of her shoulders. His lips explored the tender flesh of her neck, nibbled at her earlobe. When he kissed the sensitive spot just under it, she sucked in her breath.

Something began to blossom in her stomach, something warm that spread through her body and concentrated between her thighs.

Her inexpert fingers moved to the hooks of his doublet opening one after the other, then he shrugged it off. He wore only a loose shirt underneath. She pulled at the hem and accidently brushed over the crotch of his breeches. A bulge had formed there and he groaned after her quick touch. The shirt went next and he was half-naked now. Broad shouldered he was and Cat could see the muscles working underneath the skin when he pulled the shirt over his head . There was a thin scar on his side, almost ten inches long. He saw that her gaze had dropped to it and explained: "Someone tried to scratch me there in my first battle. He never tried again." Carefully, she traced the smooth tissue with a finger, then she looked up at him again. There was unconcealed hunger in his eyes, but also tenderness and his movements were soft and slow. He still did not try to undress her. Neither did he open his breeches. Should she do it? He embraced her again and her fingers found their way to the waistband, undid the laces. Again, she brushed against his manhood and this time, he moaned against her lips before he quickly got rid of his breeches. He was fully nude now and she tried not to look at him below the waist, found it rude to stare and was afraid of what she might see. He still did not try to undress her but gently guided her to the huge bed, his bed, but with a new mattress stuffed with downs and feathers and covered with silky sheets. The drapings were made of bright red velvet with rich embroidery but the sheets were white. There were several blankets and coverlets piled on top, even sleeping furs for colder nights.

She laid down on the bed, still in her nightgown, insecure what he wanted her to do.

Apparently nothing. He crawled on top of her but did nothing but kiss her until her lips were swollen and the heat between her legs was burning. She tugged at the neckline of her nightgown, then at the hem and pulled it over her head. Charles looked at her as if she was a picture he wanted to remember. Then slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out to touch her, his hand hovered over her chest for a moment, he looked at her to see whether she was afraid. In reply, she reached up and pulled him close, kissed him and allowed her hands to wander from his waist to his neck, entangle in his hair. His fingers gently squeezed her breast. He knew where to touch her, that much was certain. His hands were everywhere at the same time, at some point, he started kissing her body too and she was beginning to feel a longing, though for what, she was not sure. Finally, his fingers moved between her legs and stayed there. She had never known that the consummation could be this pleasurable. A strange sensation took hold of her and she gasped out in surprise, threw her head back as the feeling washed over her in waves.

Afterwards, he kissed her with new fervour but still, he was waiting. For what? Had they not waited long enough? She was scared of the pain it would bring, yes. But she wanted it. It would seal their bond, make them one in the eyes of God and law. She spread her legs a little as one of the French ladies had once told her. He seemed to take the hint.

"Do you want this?" He brushed a few loose curls from her face. "I do not want to hurt you."

He would, there was no denying that. But yes, she wanted it anyway. She was his wife, he was her husband. And somehow, her body wanted it too, she thought.

"I want this." She smiled. "Husband."

The word alone sufficed to make him smile.

"Little Wildcat." He kissed her neck. "My wife."

It did hurt, yes. Not much, not long, but it was a stab of pain. Not as bad as she had imagined it and soon forgotten. He said her name in all variations as he thrust into her, kissed every inch of skin within his reach. When he spent his seed inside her, he groaned louder than before, was panting heavily, his eyes were closed. Perhaps, he had planted a child in her womb.

"How are you feeling?" He lay next to her now, staring at her face, trying to find out what she was thinking. Cat smiled. "I'm feeling better than I ever have." That was true. Never before had she felt so light, exhilarated, satisfied.

"I love you." He said as he kissed her forehead.

She had to laugh. "I think you are rather agreeable, too."

"Remind me why I married you again."

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps you did not think."

"Why did you marry me?"

"I thought too much," she grinned.

"Will you always have the last word?" He pulled the blankets up to cover them both and brushed against her skin far more often than necessary.

"Only if you don't come up with something cleve- Oh." His touch was expertly.

"I think I have found a way to shut you up." He said before he kissed her again.

It was true what they said about the wedding night: If it was good, no one actually slept before dawn.

Catherine awoke when the sun was already high at the sky, panicking because she feared she might have missed her duty, then remembering her wedding when she felt someone stirring next to her.

"Good morning, Mistress Brandon." Charles placed kisses on her shoulder blade.

"It is "Your Grace" for you, Your Grace."

"Good morning, my grace," he chuckled.

She rolled her eyes so that he could see it.

"When are we leaving for Penshurst?" She wanted to depart as soon as possible, was looking forward to days she would spent only with him...and nights, too.

"The children are not there yet." He reminded her, his hands on her waist.

"I know." She turned around, suddenly feeling wicked. She ran a hand down his smooth chest.

"Oh." His breathing quickened. "I should have known, you ladies from France are all- Ouch!"

"You better be nice to me, Your Grace."

"How come you remember my title better now that you are not supposed to use it anymore?"

"Because now it is mine own, too. Your Grace."

"Charles." He corrected her.

"Master Brandon." She kissed his collarbone as her hands travelled over his body.

"Charles."

"My lord Suffolk."

She kissed his neck, her hands wandered.

"Catherine," he groaned. Catherine decided that she liked this part of matrimony.

"No, you got it all wrong." She smiled as she kissed him again. " _I_ am Catherine."

"You are the devil." He cursed her.

"No, I do not think that hell is a particularly wonderful place."

She placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

"I will show you." He grinned, and within moments, he had changed the game. He was a more experienced player, after all. She did say his name then.

"See, was that so hard, little wildcat?"

"Stop calling me that, I am not the most recent addition to your menagerie."

"I don't have a menagerie yet, only a cat. I could get a parrot, or perhaps a bear?"

"I know a dozen parrots but I won't share you with any of them." She said rather harshly. He had spoken in jest but his past was there, all written over her body. He was an experienced lover, that much was obvious.

He smiled uncomfortably now. "I could never revert to drinking water after trying wine."

She had to laugh despite herself. "I never understood why they call you charming. First you compare me to a pet, now to a beverage. You are everything but charming."

He pushed himself up a bit so that he could look at her better: "Only with you, Cat. You make a fool out of me."

He seemed self-conscious for a moment and that was all it took. She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him down crashing upon herself.

They left in the afternoon, later than originally planned, and quickly because neither of them cared to hear more bawdy remarks.

* * *

Next chapter will be longer and have the children, Anne and a bit of drama! We are in summer 1532 now (events-wise, I seem to have abolished time and concrete dates along the way for which I'm sorry), so we all know what's coming soon!

 **Review Replies:**

 **Xenocanaan** : Thank you! You never fail to cheer me up :)

 **Unique16** : That's so sweet! I am smiling like the donkey from Shrek right now. I am double-majoring in English and German (to become a teacher) and have writing, linguistics and literature classes. As many others, I'd like to be a writer and have already completed a novel- but in German. My command of the English lanugage is not good enough for a 'proper' story. Thank you!

 **QueenAnneTudor** : I agree, he was really immature. Anne was not without flaws of course but she did not deserve her fate. I do blame Henry and Cromwell most, though, her enemies had nothing on her as long as those two were on her side. But yes, Charles is very judgemental and unfair and perhaps Cat can make him see sense. Thak you for your comment.

Dear **Guest** , I thank you! I wanted to create a character that goes well with Anne but is neither her shadow nor a poor copy but compliments her- while also having chemistry with Brandon. I'm glad I seem to have achieved that at least partly!  
And I am so happy you like my Anne, she is such a wonderful real life character and I really want to do her justice.

Dear Guest, thank you for your review! Here you have the wedding (night), sorry if it didn't meet your expectations. But I am certain I can offer you a dose of drama in the future! ;)


	22. Chapter 22

**Here comes the update! Two months late and not as good as I wanted it to be. I don't want to bore you with excuses but I feel bad for not updating for so long so you get them anyway: I was on holiday, then I was ill (properly ill, as in not-laptop-ill) then term started and I had papers and then I got a new job (which is great but very time consuming) and now I have to write my thesis. Anyway, pity party's over, here comes the new chapter! (Not properly edited on ff. net because I hate scrolling through 5,500 words, but I edited it on Word!)**

 **Of course after that embarrassing two month wait I will try to have the next chapter up sooner but as I said in my TED talk above, I'm not sure whether these traditional 24h days work in my favour. Again: Sorry!**

 **And thank you for all the favs, follows and reviews. I probably don't deserve them but I love receiving them anyway and it was that final review that made me go: "Ok, I'll do it now!" End of fishing for reviews.**

* * *

 **Penshurst Place**

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**  
 **~o~**

Penshurst was just as Cat remembered it: Airy rooms with modern, tastefully subtle tapestries and hangings, comfy but elegant furniture and excellent views over the countryside. The leaves were already changing colour and the hunting forest looked like a bed of glowing embers and yellow flames. The gardens would need an experienced gardener, in the years since her father's death, it had been neglected: Flowerbeds were overgrown with weeds, hedges that had once been properly trimmed looked wild and untidy now. Catherine did not mind so much, she liked the look of nature. But her mother had once invested much time and energy in the planning of the extravagant Italianate garden and she would not destroy her work.

The days felt both long and too short: The two of them went riding everyday, sometimes they took the children with them. George shot his first deer and felt like a crown prince afterwards. The sky was still blue and the air mild, though it smelled of plums and overripe apples and often, the sound of humming bees and singing birds was the only noise to be heard. It was a welcome change from the noise and haste of the court and she had rarely felt more peaceful.

Many gifts and letters arrived in the week after their wedding, so many that they sacrificed a parlour on the ground floor for their storage. Fine chairs and tables with ivory or silver inlays, expensive fabrics, cutlery and plates, a set of matching hunting saddles and a shower of jewels: On their own, they had been influential. Together, they were truly powerful with Charles at the king's side and Cat at Anne's. Her letters were few but full of hidden secrets and mysterious remarks and Cat assumed that her friend's strange behaviour meant that she was one step further. Anne would get what she had worked for all these years, and Henry, sick of Clement, would give it to her, no matter the consequences. There had been a mood swing in the country, subtle but noticeable. Suddenly, Anne was more than a whore. Everyone had noticed that she was no Bessie Blount, no Mary Boleyn. The Queen was a shadow at her own court, Anne had completely replaced her.

And the English people did not approve. Katherine was a Spanishwoman, still decidedly foreign in her manners and speech, and yet, the people loved her. Anne was one of them, she should have been even more popular, but she wasn't: The English were an unforgiving, grudging sort, and for every young, romantic maid and every impressed gentleman, there was a middle-aged woman who had to fear for her position, and a conservative who loathed Anne for the change she had brought. Anne had set the country in a roar- and would no doubt continue to do so. The country was as divided as the court, only that the noble and the rich hid their disapproval better for fear of repercussions. But Cat and Charles, blissfully ignorant in their secluded reclose, noticed only very little of the turmoil around them. On the seventh day of their honeymoon, an innocent letter shook their marital bliss for a moment. Francis Talbot had written a congratulatory letter. That in itself was no reason for ill blood. But it was cruelly addressed to Catherine _Stafford_ , Duchess of Suffolk. The disrespect for Brandon's unprolific family name, with which the duke had tarnished his young bride, was only the first of many jibes. In front of Charles Cat had torn the letter into squares without reading it and thrown them in the basket next to the fireplace, only to retrieve them a little later overcome by curiosity. After reading it, she was happy that Charles had not been forced to hear this lampoon. Talbot congratulated her exuberantly but with every word he cursed their union as unworthy of her. She was, according to his not-so-subtle accusations, a cold hearted person who had married Brandon for title, fortune and position and was therefore a traitor of old values. But in comparison to Charles's treatment, Cat could not complain. He was an upstart without talent or intelligence, a spineless worm that had managed to get into the king's good books because of his looks, his father's death in service and more luck than any man deserved, least of them Charles. Talbot continued in this fashion and Catherine, after a moment of hesitation, put the pieces back into the basket. Those nasty words had shaken her, though not in the way Talbot had hoped. She worried about Charles' position at court. There were more who considered their marriage a mistake and although she did not think so, she was aware that Charles had to care. His influence depended on his popularity, not only with the king but also with the young faction at court, those that would have rather seen him married to a lady from a more common and less threatening background. A lady that would not empower those of the old blood and pure lineage.

 _They can grumble as much as they like, the king has given us his blessing. With his and Anne's approval, nothing bad can happen to us._

And because Cat was married for only seven short days and the weather was wonderful and Charles's daughters called for her, she managed to forget about the problems they would have to face back at court.

 **~o~**

 **Charles**

 **~o~**

Charles had retrieved the letter from the basket not much later and could say now that he was happy she had not read it. Talbot insulted her terribly and Charles even more. It would have been easy to shrug it off as jealousy and forget about the sulking man. But Talbot stood for all those that disapproved of their marriage, and, Charles feared, there were quite a few. Thoughtlessly, he threw the pieces of paper into the fire and wandered through the empty rooms. Cat was upstairs with the girls and Charles knew better than to intrude. They got on well, his two girls and his wife and he was glad for it. Frances and Mary had been craving a mother all those years, despite his best efforts. Yet, he had feared they would be jealous of Catherine and her wards but there was no trace of bad blood between the children. George had developed an interest in horseback riding and Charles, who had been cruelly deprived of his only son, was only too keen to support this interest. Bessie, Cat's eldest niece and Frances were both very conscientious students (Franny didn't take after her father a lot, apparently) and Mary had made it a habit to drag the little Kitty round the house like a doll. She was careful enough though and Kitty seemed to enjoy it. Their life here at Penshurst was idyllic, too wonderful to last- and it wouldn't. Despite Henry's assurance that they could stay in the countryside as long as they wanted to, Charles' royal friend soon bombarded him with letters, one more pleading in tone than the last. Henry had his sweetheart to pass his time with and her many relatives but none of them could take Charles's place. Charles, still blinded by jealousy and an inexplicable dislike for Anne, took his friend's eagerness to have him back at court for a sign of boredom and a sure sign that Anne Boleyn's times would soon be over. He was mistaken.

 **~o~**

It was late autumn when the two of them finally returned to court. The plums had been harvested already, only a few winter apples still hung on their trees, shining red gold in the weaker sunlight. It broke their hearts to say goodbye to the children, that much is certain, but neither admitted as much in front of them. Catherine was twice as cheerful to make their departure less painful for everyone and Charles did his best to lighten the mood.

"You will read to me when we return. Your French will be perfect by then, I hope, or I will be very cross indeed, young lady." He mussed Frances' hair.

"You wouldnt know, lord father, for you couldn't tell a subjonctive from an imparfait." The girl smiled. This was the longest period of time their father had ever spent with them since their mother's death, or perhaps it only seemed like that because he had been _there_ , not up in his study writing letters or talking to tenants like he had at Westhorpe.

"Well, you have a point there, Frances. Why dn't you teach your lord father next time we're here? So we all have something to look forward to." Cat smiled at her husband mischievously.

"You have nothing to look forward to, my lady, I can tell you that much."

"It is 'Your Grace' for you, Your Grace."

Elizabeth and George, with little Kitty between them, were too used to disappointment to object when their aunt and uncle left them. With their mother's dark eyes they gazed up at them, not a word of complaint was uttered but they were just as sad. Without the duke and duchess, it would be calm in Penshurst: No father who would tell the teacher to take a day off, no Catherine who would tell them stories of wild beasts and countries so strange and foreign that they must have been an invention. They would go riding with the stablemaster, eat in the hall with the governess and teacher, play by themselves and fall asleep alone without hands to warm their ears and a fairytale to warm their hearts.

Mary Brandon had never learned to hold her tongue though and she had none of the shyness her unlikely stepsiblings showed.

"Will you come back for Christmas, papa?" No joke lightened the mood now and Cat was lost for words. Every excuse would be cruel, a lie even crueller. The truth was that they didn't know. Probably they would but no one knew what would happen at court and they had to be present for the official festivities, shake hands, smile, be seen. Prove all the sceptics wrong.

"We will do our best," Catherine said. There was no use in lying, they would figure it out anyway.

Disappointment rewarded her honesty.

"But if you are a good and conscientous girl, you might get a pony for Christmas. And then we can go riding together, mh, what do you thing, Mary?"

It was a desperate attempt and not very fruitful either.

"I don't want a pony. I want you to stay."

There was nothing they could say to that. Catherine, who had spent great parts of her childhood alone, too, knew that it would get better: This week would be terrible but the next would be better and in a month, they would have almost forgotten about them. She felt tears pricking in the corners of her eyes.

"Farewell, my darlings. Write! Every week. We will send you stories and sweets, I promise."

That much they could promise, at least.

And then they mounted their horses and left their home and family behind.

 **~o~**

 **Hampton Court Palace**

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**

 **~o~**

Court had changed in their absence, whether for better or for worse depended on the perspective. Charles was not pleased with the strength of the Howard faction, especially with old Howard's secure position on the council. There was work to do and positions to reclaim and Charles wasted no time. He had a family, a growing family perhaps even, he had to thin of them too.

Catherine, because of her friendship with Anne and her kinship with the Duke of Norfolk more lenient when it came to the Howards found the court livelier, less stuffy but also more frivolous. She found one of the new maids of honour, some girl from Kent near Hever, on the lap of a young page boy with red eyes and strained laces. Her bodice was loose on her frame and when she turned around to hide her face, Cat saw why: The boy had been to eager and torn the laces. Court had always been a place of flirt and love and laughter, she was the last person to criticise courty love and games. But this went one step too far. They were right in the great hall where everyone, from the serving boy to the duchess, could see them. And worse, the boy had the Boleyn bul sewn over his heart while the girl had been suggested by Elizabeth Howard Boleyn, Anne's own mother.

This kind of lewdness was usually tolorated if it happened behind closed doors or - Cat blushed at the thought - curtains, but this was immodest and unseemly, even at the English court.

Within a fortnight, both had left the Howard-Boleyn household. It was an example of the changed tone at court though: Anne loved to read the bible, but it was the New Testament she preferred. And she preferred to discuss it. She was dangerously close to heresy at times but luckily, she was the only one Cat didn't have to worry about. Henry was, if possible, only more in love than before and Charles faced a grave disappointment. No one ever spoke of Queen Katherine who resided faraway from court with a princely household that consisted of those ladies and lords Anne could spare - Spanishwomen, the old, the witless, and the prim.

It was a surprisingly warm autumn day when Anne met Catherine for a walk in the garden.

"I have news for you, dear friend." She still smiled th old Anne-smile, part cunning, part mischief, part mystery. Only her eyes revealed her warm feelings for her friend.

"I cannot wait to hear them."

"I cannot wait to tell them! His Majesty, in his great generosity, has decided to give me a title and lands. He has given me the Queen's quarters and he will give me her crown - in time. First, he will make me Marquess. Marquess of Pembroke, like his on uncle!" There was honest joy on Anne's dark face.

"Oh, Nan, that is wonderful!" Catherine knew what this meant. Henry was not planning on making her a maitresse on titre, as many thought. He would have made her a Marquise then. No, he was planning on making her his wife.  
It was without precedent. A woman as a Marquess. Anne would not take the seat in the House of Lords but apart from that, she was as good as all the othernoblemen of the realm, better than most even. Only Exeter, Norfolk and Suffolk equaled her in rank.

She received the marquesate and the crown in a ceremony that could have been a royal coronation. Anne wore red from head to toe and her long dark tresses fell to her hip in a silky curtain to remind all the people, noble and common, that she was still a virgin, untouched and pure.

It was like a scene from a fairy tale book and Catherine couldn't help but smile throughout the ceremony. There were many others though that did not share her happiness. One of them was her own husband.

Catherine and Charles were alone in their chambers after a grand feast. Midnight had come and gone and the wine and dance had only intensified their feelings. Cat blabbered about the ceremony and how happy she was that Anne had finally been given a reward for her work at the king's side when it dawned on her that her husband was suspiciously silent.

"You don't approve." The joyous laugh died on her lips.

"Why would I?" Charles asked, not even bothering to hide his displeasure and general annoyance. All night he had been strangely irritated, despite his japes and easy smiles.

"She is your friend's most beloved companion. The king is determined to marry her. She deserves a better title than Lady Anne."

"And why? Because she has wiggled her way into the king's good graces? Because her whole family came to court like a flock of crows over a battlefield full of carrion? All she has is the king's appetite."

"All you had was the king's friendship." Catherine objected. "He made you a duke for less." She knew as soon as the word left her lips that she had been uncareful.

"For less-" His jaws clenched. Charles was proud of few things, but one of those things was his loyalty to the king and refusal to play a prominent part in the game of courtly intrigue if it was not for a good reason. This however seemed to be a perfectly good reason to him.

"For less? I have certainly never tried to charm him. We were friends from nursery, you have no-"

They were married for a little over a month and they were already fighting. Wonderful.

"Forgive me. I didn't mean it that way."

He nodded briskly.

"It is just that Anne is not the way you paint her. She loves Henry, she does-"

"-So you deny her ambitions? If she loves him so much, why hasn't she given in to his advances? Why play this game for the crown?"

That shocked her speechless.

"Are you even aware of what you are suggesting there?"

He did look a bit ashamed.

"So every woman who does not raise her skirt for the man she loves is therefore overly ambitious and unworthy of affection, is that what you mean, Charles?!"

She was shouting now. At least the guards would have some secrets to sell.

"Catherine, I-"

"You what? No, I cannot say that I am surprised, really, not by someone-" For a brief moment, she wondered whether she should really cross that line. It wouldn't be wise. But wisdom had currently sought refuge at the very back of her mind. "Not by someone like you."

"Someone like me? A commoner you mean, someone without an old surname and no manners, is it that? Who doesn't speak French and who didn't read the scriptures? Who _worked_ for everything he has?" There were red spots on his neck now and a fiery fury in his eyes. "Yes, I do think that she could have shown him more kindness. She is playing with him like a cat with a mouse. He has made a fool out of himself-"

"And that is her fault?! Her own sister has vanished in obscurity after Henry had his fill. Does anyone still remember Bessie Blount? But of course, you would never see that. I can only wonder what happened to all the women you abandoned."

 _Another line crossed._

"If I hadn't abandoned them, as you put it, you wouldn't be a duchess now."

"If you hadn't, I would be in Derbyshire now."

 _Ah, a Francis Talbot reference. Another line. Are you MAD?_

Charles seemed to agree with the voice of reason that murmured insider her head. He looked truly taken aback now. Yes, that had taken it a step too far.

And yet, he had spoken about women in a way that Cat could neither forget nor forgive. It stung, especially because Catherine felt a sting of jealousy and - well, it was hard to give it a name, but perhaps inadequacy- every time Charles wild past came up. He was a novel and she was a blank sheet and she could not forget about that, no matter what he said. It was not his problem, only her own, she was aware of that. She felt inadequate because of her own insecurities and normally he did everything in his power to give her security. _He married me-_

Well, he had married three women before, all of them exceptionally rich, as it was.

 _Stop being so snappy, he loves you, you know it._

But feelings are changeable, and he had had more women than he was years old. The flirt was fine, but now he would have to keep to one bed. Forever. Or she would be forced to endure the shame her mother had endure - and Katherine had endure. She had even encouraged Anne to push the Queen out of her royal chair. _He takes and He gives. He honours and He punishes._ She would deserve it, perhaps...but that did not calm her fears.

"Well, I didn't have the impression that that was what you preferred-" His tone was oddly cold now and he sounded as if he had caught a sudden cold. _I hurt him. Wonderful. Back for a week and we are back to fighting._

"Of course it isn't," she conceded. It could have ended here. He could have shown a sign of affection, she would have smiled and perhaps, it would have been forgotten.

I did not end here though. Unfortunately, Charles was as hot-headed as Cat was and he was angry. Of course Cat couldn't know that Francis Talbot was to him what Charles's past was to her. And so the poked bear attacked.

"That is truly interesting. I can understand why you support Lady Anne so vehemently, it is after all your favourite sports to toy with men, isn't it? I wonder whether you were a natural or whether that is what they teach _noble_ young ladies at the French court."

Cat sucked in her breath. If she had been less angry, perhaps she would have seen that Brandon was as shocked as she was.

"I think you know best what they teach young ladies at the French court. Or the English. Or the Dutch. God knows, you got around a lot."

She felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. No, he would not see her cry. And before he could make a reply, she had whirled around, pushed the doors open, and, ignoring the ashamed guards, she rushed out of their quarters to the one person she could confide in:

Anne was with her sister and a few ladies but withdrew to her private chambers with Cat as soon as she saw the dried tears on her cheeks and the colour that had risen to them.

"We had a fight." Catherine was not sobbing, but the tears did not stop falling, now that she was behind closed doors again.

"About what?"

"About you, actually. But it turned nasty."

And she told Anne everything.

When she had finished, Anne smiled, which she took as a good sign.

"He is jealous of me, Cat. I am jealous of him, I admit it freely. The two people we both love most on this earth, we have to share with each other. He never had to share Henry, I never had to share you-"

"We are not pets, you know."

"I know. And still. Now he has married you, and still he has to share. It is not easy."

"But I have to share you with the king, and the king has to share, too."

"But you are sharing with a king! And your temperament is far different. You are generous and have never been possessive. I fear that both Brandon and I would like to have you and Henry to ourselves."

"I wouldn't want to share Charles with another woman," Catherine said, thinking of his long list of past dalliances. Anne laughed.

"See? I told you, you have no idea. That is not at all what I meant. See, we have grown up differently. Brandon and I are far more alike than he'd care to admit. You and Henry have been born into your high positions, everything came easy - well, relatively easy to you, at least when you were younger." Anne added the last part when Catherine was about to object. "Brandon and I had to fight for everything we have now, and we will always be scared of losing it again."

Catherine felt even worse about bringing Talbot up.

"You defended me and sided with me, for which I thank you. No one else would. But of course, that only furthers his antipathy." Anne took a sip of wine, no doubt French and expensive.

"It is not only jealousy, Nan. He seems to think you're bad for Henry, for England. He says you have been toying with the king, he says you are using him, that you are overly ambitious."

"Everyone at court says that, love. That is exactly what I made them say. Everything they ever said about Mary and Bessie Blount was that they had lost their hearts to the wrong man and pitied them. I do not want to be pitied. I will not be forgotten.

Brandon cares for Henry more than anyone else - but me." Anne smiled her very special Anne-smile, part smug, part suggestive, part secretive. "Of course he fears that I am only using the king - do not forget that that was exactly what my dear Lord uncle had in mind originally. How can Brandon know what happens between Henry and me when we are alone? All he ever sees is the facade. I admit, it was not very nice of him-"

"He was absolutely rude." Cat remembered her husband's words with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "He suggested that if you had loved the king, you would have given yourself to him."

Anne clicked her tongue disparagingly. "Henry said the same. Sometimes, men forget that the world is divided in two halves: One half that can do as it pleases and the other that has to watch its back all the time. They forget that a woman's social status depends on her virtue, that we are punished for all mistakes we make, and for most of their mistakes too. It was ignorance, not spite, Cathy. Men rarely think before they speak", she smiled.

"I admire you for your cool-headedness. I'd have my claws out already."

"I bet Brandon is still licking his wounds," Anne chuckled. "I might have become angry, but as a rule, only one of us can lose her temper, so the other can calm her down. Oh, heavens, imagine us stirring each other's fire. We'd be sent to a nunnery before the end of the week."

"You'll make a wonderful queen."

"I wholeheartedly agree. Yet, I fear we are alone with this unpopular opinion."

"Many support you!"

"But not out of idealism. My supporters are weathervanes, you know that. The young, the hungry and the upstarts. Men that fancy themselves in love with me. My family." She grimaced. "George thinks I'll make a good queen too, but then again, he thinks it would be wise to publically advocate the Lutheran convictions."

"Henry thinks you will make a good queen."

That brought a smile to her face.

"Yes. Perhaps. Well, he is more excited over the son he is certain we will have, but yes. He might think so. I'm resolved to be a patron of the arts, an advocate of humanist education and a supporter of the new faith. I will be generous to the poor and schools all over the country will bear my name. I will have my own college at Oxford. And of course I will have at least three sons who can fight for the throne upon their father's death."

"The whole world will hail you as Good Queen Anne," Cat smiled.

" _Good_? Brave Queen Anne. Witty Queen Anne. Great Queen Anne. No one remembers the kind ones."

"I am so relieved to see that you do not suffer from delusions of grandeur," Cat remarked drily but Anne only laughed.

"Oh, I do not suffer. I enjoy every moment of it."

Anne had always been able to make her laugh.

"I don't want to go back now. I don't want to talk to him right now. I'm still angry."

Anne did not approve, that much was certain.

"Of course you can stay here tonight. But it will only be worse in the morning."

That had been one of the rare incidents when Anne was actually wrong.

Catherine found Charles pacing up and down in her bedroom, apparently waiting for her.

"Cat!" And she couldn't breathe because he showered her with kisses. "I shouldn't have said any of it. Forgive me."

And her heart melted. She had actually wanted to be strong and unyielding, to make him admit his jealousy and mistakes. She had wanted to be proud and dignified, cool and reserved. She had wanted to win this fight.

"I'm so sorry," she said instead. "About Talbot-" Cat swallowed her ride whole, nearly choked on it but then spoke on: "I shouldn't have brought him up. I would have never married him, not if we had been the last two people on the planet. He was arrogant and selfish and despicable."

He shook his head. "No, it was me. I shouldn't have brought any of it up. Of course I didn't mean to say- About the skirts."

He actually blushed. That was rare.

"Forgiven and forgotten." Cat smiled. "It's only- Anne is my only true friend, Charles. She is a good person. She loves the king. And I love her. Do not speak about Anne like that, I cannot stand it. You do not know her and have no right to judge her. I'm certain you will grow to like her."

He did not look convinced. He did not look like he wanted to be. If at all, he looked like a man who wanted to evade a fight. "Well-" he started, even his smile evasive, "then I have to get to know her, I guess."

That would be a start, hopefully.

* * *

Gast: Der Titel (so far) ist "Es war einmal (Insert catchy subtitle here)' und es geht um die Grimm'schen Märchen, die es mir sehr angetan haben. Der Roman ist aber deutlich witziger als meine fanfictions (hoffentlich jedenfalls!), hier flowt mein Humor einfach nicht so. Ich liebe es, online Undercover-deutsche zu treffen!

I completely agree! I think the deterioration of his morals started with the execution of Wolsey and when he killed More, he had already gone a step too far. I don't think much of altering the past, mainly because I don't have the brain to figure out all the subtle changes that little twist could have resulted in. I reserve that for my fairy tales!

Thank you a lot for your review!

Princess07890: Thank you! I was so self-conscious about that part! Well, maybe. I promise, you will find out, perhaps next chapter? ;)

xenocanaan: Thank you for your many reviews! I'm so sorry if I kept you waiting.

Unique16: I already found that rather explicit to be honest - but thank you even more, I feel comfortable with that now. Feels weird to write stuff like that, at least to me. I'm glad yo liked it.

.salvadore: Thank you! I will be more self-confident from now on!

SerenadeSailing: I hope so too! He would not be the Charles I like though if he did. Does not mean there won't be trials waiting for them though, but I'm sure they manage. Thank you so much for your sweet review! It was the one that made me go "Back to writing now, you lazy pile of blankets and cookie crumbles"

Guest: I did! Late, but I did. And I will! I won't abandon anything on here, promise!


	23. Chapter 23

Author's Apologetic Note: It took me half a decade once again but I'm at uni/ work from 8am to 8 pm every day which really sucks to be honest, and there's that real life that keeps knocking when I want to write my fanfiction...

This is the first half of their journey to Calais which originally took place in September 1532 but I pushed it to early January 1533 because there was already Cat and Charles's wedding in autumn and things are just generally better in winter^^

Anyway, enjoy, please review if you find the time!

* * *

 **~o~**

 **December, Whitehall**

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**

 **~o~**

"We are going to France!" The train of Anne's red velvet gown swept the floors clean but she didn't care. "Francis will receive us, he will receive me as the future Queen of England." She took Cat's hands and whirled through the room. "Oh, I am almost there."

She was.  
"When?"

"Right after Christmas. And Henry has hinted at a grand wedding feast and Archbishop Cranmer has declared the king's marriage to Katherine null and void. It is only a matter of months now, maybe weeks."

The joy had brought colour to Anne's cheeks the normally artfully arranged hair had come undone. Strands of dark hair peeked out from underneath the veil and the hood was only held by a few pins, it seemed.

With one impatient move, Anne took it off. "Won't belong until I have to wear it all the time," she smiled, "So I show my hair while I still can."

Henry and Anne's good mood was contagious and the Christmas feast that year was out of the ordinary. Henry had ordered a new ship with sails of green silk and Anne's likeness carved into the figurehead. Anne had bought matching saddles for her and Henry, spears, longbows and a very fine sword with a hilt enlaid with rubies, the stones of lovers, and Tudor green emeralds.

In his euphoria, the king had allowed Cat and Charles to go to Penshurst from Christmas Day to the first of January. Snow had fallen all over England, even in Cornwall, and the heavy white blanket muffled the sound of the hooves and made the short way to Penshurst a small adventure. The horses slipped on frozen pools hidden by inches of snow but Cat had reason to be thankful for all the snow when her horse, startled by something that was apparently a small frozen stream underneath its hooves, decided to continue its journey without a rider on its back.

Charles was next to her within a second.

"Don't move. Are you hurt?"

"Only by the disloyalty of my horse." Cat sat up and shook the snow from her hair. Her riding hat had apparently vanished into thin air.  
"Where is that beast?"

It had been a good horse, one of Henry's finest steeds, he had lent it to her especially for the journey to Penshurst.

It was nowhere to be found.

"Someone gets a very generous Christmas present then, apparently."

And they would have to get Henry a new horse. Hungarian perhaps, they were trained better than those fierce French stallions.

"Well, it looks like we're riding double then." Charles helped her up.

"So I will leant against your noble chest, protected by your strong arms while I hold the reins?"

She planted a quick kiss on his cold cheek.

"As if I'd ever allow you to take the reins," he whispered back, "You can lean against my noble back, wrap your arms around me, and keep me warm."

"As if you could allow me anything!" She walked over to his horse and had mounted before Charles had even reached her. "I really wish I had married a gentleman."

"He would have bored you," Charles tugged at the hem of her dress so that the fabric would more gracefully and looked up at his wife with a mischievous grin. "No one to look down upon."

She looked down at him. "I allow you to sit behind me and keep me warm then."

"I have a generous mistress and I will show you my gratitude once we're home," he whispered, his cheek cold against her temple and his warm arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

Cat spurred her horse without another word and his breathless chuckle was reply enough.

Their time in Penshurst was over too soon. Everyday they had gone for long walks through the parks, George and the older girls on horseback (Mary had fearlessly mounted her new pony, a very gentle and beautiful palomino), little Kitty on Charles's arm, wrapped in furs and wool.

Once again, their goodbye was sad and teary but a promise that they would be back before lent helped to dry the girls' tears.

"I would love one of our own," Charles said on the way back, so quietly that the servants did not hear him. "One with your eyes and hair and my - erm, nose, perhaps? We already have an Elizabeth, which was both my mother's and grandmother's name but my aunt was called Alice. Alice would be nice, don't you think? And Henry for our first son. And Edward and … Eleanor for your parents?"

Cat felt as if the snow around her had relocated and found a place to stay in her insides. She was still not expecting. Their wedding had been months ago but she was still not with child. Only the day before yesterday her bleeding had started and Charles was aware because she had chosen to sleep in the Lady's Chamber instead of sharing his bed. Why was he so indelicate?

"Wonderful." She forced a smile. Perhaps she wouldn't have a child at all. Perhaps they would have only one daughter, just like her namesake, the queen. _Princess Dowager._ Perhaps the Lord would punish her for her crimes against his law, for her support for Anne, and she would not be able to have children. Charles would be disappointed, he would find consolation elsewhere.

"Then maybe William. For Compton, and also for my father. Perhaps Anne for another daughter? Do you like Anne?"

 _I would like to live, I would like to spend at least a few months of my childbearing years outside the confinement chamber and I would like to stop discussing this._

"Anne is lovely and Nan would be so pleased. Look, is that a deer over there?"

"Might be." Charles didn't even take a look. "Henry would like to be godfather, he told me before we left." _Brilliant._ So he was already talking about their children with the King and God knew whom and she was as far from being pregnant as the old queen? _Princess Dowager._

"I thought perhaps Thomas More would like to be godfather as well. He'd make sure our child receives the best possible education. Doesn't he know Erasmus himself? And who knows, perhaps your Anne would like to be godmother? Or your sister?"

"I am relieved that you gave this so much thought but you might be a little bored in the nine months before the actual birth of our child if you continue planning his or her future in this much detail. I'd like to speed up if you don't mind, I'm freezing."

She spurred her horse but the mare from Penshurst was not as quick as Charles's fine steed and he caught up with her without effort.

"Are you feeling alright? You've been behaving oddly all day yesterday as well."

"I haven't. I'm just cold."

"You miss the children, don't you? So will I."

A good excuse and at least one half of the truth. "Yes, terribly."

"You're not used to it yet but you will be,"Charles squeezed her hand, "And I am sure Henry will understand if we choose to stay at Penshurst longer once we have welcomed our firstborn."

Not only did he remind her of the fact that he already had two healthy daughters with a woman that eclipsed Cat in every possible way, his boundless optimism also angered her.

 _What if I won't have children? What if you'll never have the son you've been waiting for? What then?_

Of course she didn't ask him, she didn't want to plant the seed of doubt in his mind too. Soon enough there would be talk at court anyway. That their union had been cursed from the beginning, that this was the Lord's response to her behaviour with Talbot, that this was what she deserved after marrying a commoner and his punishment for being such an upstart and for marrying the daughter of a traitor. That she was infertile, that he would soon look at other ladies again, that she did not have it in her to tame a womaniser like Brandon.

She was still angry at him for being such a tactless, optimistic fool but there was nothing she could do, nothing she could say to ease her suffering without making it worse. Forced to keep these poisonous fears to herself she tried a convincing smile.

"Surely. I'm looking forward to it."

Quickly, so quickly that she almost hadn't seen it, Charles gazed at her belly, flat and empty under the tight corset.

"We have to be careful now. I heard apples are good for women then. And Lady Herbert's midwife said that it would help to drink goat milk every morning, laced with onion juice."

"Why would you know that?"

Charles turned a dark shade of pink. "Because I asked her. Saw her in the yard when she changed the sheets."

Unbelievable.

"I will not drink goat milk mixed with onion juice but you can try it of course."

"Well, it's not-" he stopped abruptly, then smiled brightly. "It will be wonderful, I mean."

"Me." Cat's voice was now as cool as her insides.

"Sorry?"

" 'It's not me.' Isn't that what you meant? That it's my fault not yours?"

"Catherine – " His gaze was soft with guilt and regret and disappointment. She couldn't bear it.

"It's only been a few months, Charles. But if you're so desperate for a new child because the older ones bore you, I'm sure you'll find some children with the Brandon nose in the brothels of London. Or you can make some new ones there, as you wish. But I would be grateful if you stopped pressuring me. There is nothing wrong with me, _I_ was innocent and healthy and the Staffords have always been fertile."

She spurred her horse once again without even looking at him to hide the tears that were pricking in her eyes. She allowed them to fall as she galloped ahead and this time, he did not follow her.

Charles did not follow her this time because he did not want her to see the pain her words had caused. He did not understand that her overreaction was the result of her feeling of inadequacy and her own nagging doubts about her fertility. They had shared the marital bed almost every night for over three months now and Charles was certain that they would soon be successful. He had not truly doubted her fertility but he was impatient and being Henry's friend, his trust in medication was considerable. He had not meant to criticise her nor had he realised that she felt accused of failure.

From his point of view she had been unnecessarily cruel and hurtful with intent.

Only barely did he contain the anger that welled up in him, fuelled by disappointment and hurt feelings. He had lived like a monk for the past _years_ while she had been flirting with most of the eligible noblemen at court. He had never insinuated what she had dared to -

They spent the rest of their journey brooding in silence and at Whitehall they took to their own chambers without a word of goodbye.

Before sunset they had reconciled though and got ready for the banquet that night in perfect harmony. Charles said nothing about children, Catherine made no comment about Charles's past: everything was well.

The first days of January passed without further fighting and although it was obvious that Charles was trying hard to conceive a child, he never repeated those words he had spoken on their way to London. Catherine was not sure whether it had been Anne who had broken her promise of secrecy and intervened or whether Charles had deduced the truth from her reconciliatory words himself. Whatever it was, she was grateful and did her best to be truly and completely happy. She was, most of the time, only sometimes, when she lay awake at night, listening to Charles' regular breath, or when she was in the Great Hall, listening to Lady Derby and Lady Fitzherbert and the newly married and now pregnant Lady Wallop, discussing midwives and childcare and governesses, she felt the weight dropping back onto her stomach. It was not fair. Lady Wallop was already visibly pregnant although she had married Sir John only half a year ago. Lady Derby was a mother of two and Lady Fitzherbert had enough children to populate the ancient City of Rome, Charles had often japed. Most of all did Catherine hate the looks. Directed at her belly, the tight laced corset, always laced with fake sympathy and honest malice.

When they set sail for Calais, she was relieved. Two weeks in France, the perfect chance to get away from court.

She would spend the time with Anne, discussing French fashions and ladies, walking through the halls and corridors she had walked through all those years ago when she had still been little Cat Stafford, the Duke of Buckingham's youngest, and some said favourite, daughter who could hope to make a great European match. Back then, even the dauphin of France had not been too far above her. The Staffords of Thornbury were and old family and as noble as the King's.

This time, she would be Catherine Brandon, Duchess of Suffolk. Charming gentlemen would bow in front of her and sing songs of her beauty but no dauphin, no Duke of Mantua or Count of Toulouse would look at her twice. She was spoiled goods now because of her marriage to the son of a standard-bearer.

Fortunately, she noticed that she didn't mind. She wouldn't have been happy as Duchess of Mantua, as Countess of Toulouse or as Dauphine of France. She was happy now though, married to a man whose grandfather might have fought in her own grandfather's army as a lowly foot soldier. It did not matter. Charles was the only man she had ever wanted.

They arrived in Calais just before noon.

 **~o~**

 **Calais, France**

 **~o~**

 **Charles**

 **~o~**

Being married to Catherine had a lot of advantages. The major one was being married to Catherine. Apart from that though he noticed that people's attitude towards him changed. It had been the same when he had been married to Queen Mary Tudor. Suddenly, people asked his opinion. He had always been popular with the people but more and more noblemen, true noblemen, came flocking to his audience chamber, seeking patronage. It was Catherine's patronage they really sought, of course, but he didn't mind. Neither did he mind when he received the second best chambers in the royal palace, right after the Lady Anne's. Last times, his rooms had had fine silk tapestries but windows that looked over the road. These chambers offered views over the gardens and the river Aa. French noblemen had always liked him but now that he was married to Mademoiselle Cathérine, as they still called her, there seemed to be a different kind of respect.

He trod carefully with his wife at the moment, not wanting to cause another fight with careless words. By now he had figured out that she felt pressured. Of course she did, he had pretty much told her that it was her fault that she was not pregnant yet. _Sometimes, Charles,_ the king had said with a smile that was half amusement, half disbelief, _I really wonder whether you ever consider your words before you give them breath._ Unfortunately, he could not say he had given those words a second thought before he had uttered them. Never would he have thought that she could take them that way, simply because he had not meant it that way.

Defeated and ashamed, he had apologised the same day, had pretended that he had not noticed her dried tears because he knew she would have been embarrassed. Ever since he had cursed himself for his carelessness, had been attentive and courteous and had never raised the topic again. He was desperate for a child with her, a little girl that looked like her, or a boy that looked like her, it did not matter. He wanted for them to be a family in blood as much as in name. But he would never pressure her again.

She had been looking forward to France and he had been careful to be just as optimistic and jolly although he had never felt less like travelling. This was a trip for the Marquess Anne who resided in great pomp and luxury and held court as if she were queen. No one was stopping her now. In France, she would parade her new wealth and Henry would hear Francis' vows that he would always support Anne as queen and never Katherine and her uncle, Charles V.

This was a trip to ease the King's conscience and give his mistress something to do and Charles would have given at least a quarter of his world possessions (well, perhaps a fifth) to stay at home in Penshurst with Catherine and the children.

Alas, the Duchess of Suffolk was direly needed as a companion for the Lady Marquess and Henry needed his friend to discuss the beauty of his mistress and the great support and admiration the French would offer.

He was really not looking forward to it. At least the wine would be good – and he would be sharing Cat's bed every night because they were sharing these noble chambers. Things could be worse, he mused.

"Are you even listening?"

Catherine had apparently asked him a question. She stood there in a fine light blue silk dress that made her look like a fairy princess from a play and held up a string of pearls in one hand and an aquamarine necklace he had given her once in the other. That was easy.

"The stones." Charles smiled confidently.

Catherine raised an eyebrow. Wrong answer.

"What's the matter with you? You have been wandering around in trance ever since we left Dover. You didn't get seasick, did you?"

That was honest concern in her voice and Charles bit his lip and tried not to smile.

"Never got seasick in my life. I'm just … looking forward to the next two weeks tis all." Especially the nights. And the mornings. At court, Cat was always busy with her friend, from breakfast to supper. Here, Lady Anne would have other duties as well. Meet the French Queen and noblewomen, spend time with the Kings of England and France, show her gratitude. At least Henry hoped so. He had brought the crown jewels as a gift for her to wear, a gift he would reveal soon, hopefully.

"So am I." Cat smiled. "Now, do you think there be time to change after the reception? This is not a fitting gown for a ball."

Charles didn't see why it wasn't but he understood that that was not the point.

"There's always time to change for the Duchess of Suffolk." He stepped behind her, lifted the dark golden curls from her neck and fastened the aquamarine necklace around her throat, not without placing a few strategic kisses on her jaw and neck. Her eyes were dark when she turned around to him with a mocking half-smile.

"I fear it might take longer if the duchess takes her husband with her."

"There's always that risk. But the duchess can be as late as she pleases. That's the good thing about being so noble."

"I wasn't aware that you know how it is to be noble." She was playing with him now, her fingers rested on the lacings of his doublet innocently enough but she pressed her body against his in a way that made him react.

"Yes, go on, wound my pride," he kissed her a little too passionately. Her cheeks were bright pink and her hair was a mess.

"You'll heal." She smoothed down the fabric of his doublet.

"Not with your help, that's for certain."

She only smiled at that.

"Now I have to fix that bird's nest that used to be my hair do. How am I supposed to fit these under the hood? Betsy braided it neatly but now I look as if I spent a night in a haystack."

She did.

Women were always funny with their hair so he helped her fix it as well as he could.

Cat fixed the French hood, straightened it half a hundred times, then she was ready to go downstairs.

"You are beautiful," he mumbled.

"Thank you," she rewarded him with a quick kiss, "You don't look too bad yourself."

The French king praised the English ladies' beauty when he arrived, hand in hand with his mistress, a lively blonde with a pretty face and piercing blue eyes. While Henry took no offense, Lady Anne was furious and had to be calmed down by her ladies and her lover once Francis had withdrawn.  
She herself was not even a royal mistress and still she had the audacity to make a scene. Charles could not help but think that Queen Katherine, despite her stout figure and tired face, would have born herself with far more dignity in the same situation and would have never dreamt of offending neither the French king _nor_ his royal mistress.

Despite her unacceptable behaviour, Cat had rushed to Lady Anne's side like a lap dog that had been called, he noticed with some bitterness, but Charles saw several mildly indignant faces. Even the Duke of Norfolk who had supported his niece in the past, even if only for his own advancement, shot the future queen a very nasty look, followed by a few rather disapproving words to Stephen Gardiner: "Sometimes I wonder, Mr Gardiner, whether we have been wise."

He did not say more, there were ears everywhere that would have liked to report the old Duke. But Charles had heard enough. Lady Anne would soon be their Queen. But only God knew what would happen if she continued to have fits like this. Henry would tire of her temper, Charles was certain of that. It was desirable now, as she offered a welcome change from old Katherine. But at some point, a sweet, soft-spoken lady would offer a welcome change from Mistress Boleyn's temperamental ways. And then hell would break loose. Because one thing was certain: Anne Boleyn would never accept a second lady in her marriage as her predecessor had.

He still didn't care a fig for Lady Anne in all truth. She was clever and witty and had managed to gain Catherine's friendship, that much he granted her. Charles had no hard feelings towards her, apart from the occasional pang of jealousy. She was too loud for his taste, too ambitious, too forward. He had always resented the grasping nobles that tried to wheedle peerages and lands out of their king and behaved like politicians in parliament, discussing everything, from astrology to religion, with unwavering ferocity and insufferable persistence.

The only reason why he tried to like her was because he had promised Cat – and because Cat would never stop loving the Boleyn girl like a sister. It was Charles's duty to make sure that if Lady Anne ever fell from grace, she wouldn't take Catherine with her.

* * *

Soooo...Not one of my most dynamic chapters, I admit, but we will see development especially in Anne and Henry's relationship next chapter! (Next chapter is half-finished, I couldn't resist to add some good angsty drama and perhaps a snowy veil?)

 **NotLoggedOnPenny** (ShinyRedPenny, I take it?) : Nope, I'm German but I live in the UK :)

 **Xenocanaan** : Thank you so much for reviewing despite the long wait!

 **Guest1** : Oh yeah, I always wondered what would have happened if Elizabeth had had a brother...England would surely not be the same though and Elizabeth is hard to beat, let's be honest, she had the best of both worlds.

 **Bjosefine** : Tell me about it! I found only very few multi-chapter fics with Brandon/ OC or Brandon/ Mary Tudor (second fave pairing but only with Henry/ Anne) , so I started my own. Perhaps one day, I'll write Brandon/ Mary. A girl can dream.

 **Guest2** : I will never abandon a story. It might take a long time for me to finish it because I have no idea how to continue or no time to continue but I will always finish my stories :) Fortunately, I know exactly what will happen in this story, so I only need the time to put it in proper sentences^^. I'm glad you like the fighting!


	24. Chapter 24

Again, I have to apologise. I wish I could just move to some kind of writing convent. This semester has been the absolute worst (up until now, who knows what the future holds). I'm done now though and apart from work, I am free as a bee. I'll be as hard-working as a bee too and hopefully, I get another chapter out this month.

Sorry for the long wait. I promise, no matter how long it takes, I willl not abandon my stories :)

* * *

Château de Calais

Catherine

They were indeed late for the ball but that seemed to be the fashion in France. The huge ballroom was still half empty and neither the English nor the French king were anywhere to be found. Neither was Anne, but Catherine expected her to show up more than fashionably late in a breathtaking gown with a diamond mine in her hair and around her neck. She loved a dramatic entrance.

For now, Cat would have to find another companion though,for the Spanish ambassador had pulled Charles into a curtained nook and talked to him insistently. He would not let her husband go very soon, she thought, and Charles had thankfully developed a sense for politics in the recent years, so that he would not dare to affront the ambassador.

Still, waiting all alone in a ballroom was not what Cat had imagined for tonight. There was a group of well-dressed French courtiers to her left and a few middle-aged English ladies to her right. The latter stared at her openly, twisting their wedding bands around their fingers while shooting disapproving looks at the low neckline of Cat's dress, the frivolous French hood on her hair and the extravagant wedding ring on her finger. The French courtiers then.

"Madame la Duchesse!" A man in a fine blue velvet doublet raised his hand for an elegant wave.

"You 'ave no idea how 'appy we are to 'ave you back again – if only for a few weeks. The French court was lusterless without you."

It took her a moment to recognise the man – he had been slimmer back then, and had not sported such a neatly trimmed beard.

"Guillaume de Laval!" Guillaume had been no more than a lowly country gentleman when Cat had still served Queen Claude but he had always been ambitious – ambitious enough to flirt with the daughter of an English duke. Apparently, his endeavours had been fruitful. He looked like a prince himself.

"Not the man you once knew, Your Grace. A different man with the same respect for your person - and beauty - though." He kissed her hand.

"You must allow me to dance with you."

Cat did not like being told what to do but as she was friendless at the moment, any acquaintance from the past was welcome, and so she was perhaps a little too enthusiastic in her response – a response that prompted Guillaume to put a hand on her waist before the dance had even started.

Hopefully, Charles hadn't seen that.

The music was different in France as well, faster without being hasty, a melodious tune, seductive but airy.

Guillaume danced with all the grace of a Frenchman.

They exchanged the usual pleasantries until his tone suddenly changed, his voice was low as he brought his lips uncomfortably close to her ear:

"What would your lord 'usband say if I told 'im what 'appened between us?"

His breath was wet against her skin and she resisted the urge to wipe her cheek with her sleeve.

"Nothing happened, Monsieur de Laval. You know that as well as I do."

"Nothing? Vous-êtes sûre, madame la duchesse? _Les parvenues_ are always so very suspicious…'e would be furious, don't you think?"

"I do not know what you are talking about, monsieur, but my patience is wearing thin."

The Frenchman raised a hand to touch her hair but she flinched away, disguised the movement as part of the dance and stepped away from him as far as courtesy and the steps of the dance allowed.

"What do you want?"

"You shouldn't 'ave settled for that man, ma jolie. All I want you to keep in mind is that I know things about you 'e would not like. You should be – comment-dit-on – courteous."

Catherine had no idea what he meant. She had been virtuous in France, no escapades, no flirt beyond the scope of the ordinary. A few stolen kisses here and there, that was it. Guillaume had received one, she remembered. She now regretted her former bad taste in men.

And yet...would she tell Charles? There was an indistinct, dull fear growing in her that perhaps, Charles would not consider her life at the French court so virtuous. That he would not consider her innocent. _Nonsense. That is not the truth, you know it isn't. Why would he believe Guillaume more than you?_

Because he was a jealous man. And Guillaume knew that.

She was glad when the dance was over and found some of her fellow ladies in waiting by the buffet.

Anne did make her grand entrance later, but although even her greatest enemies had to admit grudgingly that Lady Anne had indeed looked rather pretty and that she had borne herself with exceptional grace, Anne's only friend was absent-minded all night. Anne tried to ask her but as she was always surrounded by two crowned heads and all those who tried to get into her good books, Catherine only smiled convincingly and told her that it was nothing, only the late hour.

Charles escaped the clutches of politics only for one dance during which he barely noticed the change in his lady wife. She had to be tired, of course. And perhaps she felt neglected. He would make up for it, he decided. But then, an envoy from Padua came and he was again separated from Catherine.

The one who enjoyed the ball the most was the king. Francis behaved like a gentleman and all the French courtiers treated Anne like the queen Henry had decided she would be.

It was the perfect beginning of a trip that, Henry hoped, would finally settle everything. And the little secret that was hidden in the casket under his desk would decide the rest….

~o~

Cat did not tell Charles that night. But she lay away all night thinking about it and when dawn came, she had made her decision.

"Good morning, little wildcat." Charles kissed her shoulder.

"I have to tell you something." She bursted out.

After a quick look at her face he judged that it was not the time for a good morning kiss and leant back against the headboard.

"Then tell."

"Yesterday evening, you remember the man that talked to me?"

"The one with the strange beard?"

"Yes. Well, he was trying – I'm not sure what exactly he wants."

And as Cat told him what Guillaume had said, his expression changed from cheerful to grim.

"I swear, nothing ever happened – "

"I don't doubt you, Cat." Now he smiled. "I trust you entirely, surely you know that." Charles kissed her.

"But about him….I know men like him. He has risen but not as high as he wanted. Bored and discontented, he is hungry for power, even in this pathetic form of blackmail. There is no reason, no greater cause, he does it because he thinks he can. You are beautiful, rich and have more power in your pinky than he he could ever hope to have. Of course he would like having you at his mercy." Charles clenched his jaws.

"He will soon be at my mercy, I swear, he'll wish –"

That did not sound promising. A sword or a fist fight would even benefit Guillaume.

"Shall we not be a bit more discreet? Let Anne have her state visit, we may not ruin it. But there's nothing wrong with a little game…" she smiled.

Charles raised a brow. "I am rather fond of games ever since they got me a very fine wife."

"You have always liked games."

"Yes, but I like them more since I'm playing with you."

"Good, you'll be playing with me this time – Keep your hands to yourself for a moment, would you?"

"Am I distracting you?" He grinned.

"Oh, not at all." She had to smile. "So, Laval." Cat knew better than calling him Guillaume in Charles' hearing.

"Yes."

"I think we should make him believe he has won."

"That doesn't sound good."

"And then, when he thinks he has won whatever it is he wants, we show him that we played him. And perhaps tell Anne."

"I'm all for it."

"You would say that even if I suggested setting the Vatican on fire."

"Maybe." Charles kissed her neck. "Probably. Depends on when you're asking."

"You are truly incorrigib- Ah."

~o~

They were late for breakfast that morning but Cat took her seat next to Anne without a hint of red on her cheeks.

"You had a good night then, I take it?" asked Nan Savage, one of Anne's new ladies-in-waiting.

"Shush, Nan." Anne raised a hand, every inch the virtuous and dignified future queen of England. "I do hope you are not suggesting what I fear you are suggesting."

"No, Madame la Marquise – le Marquis. I beg your pardon." Nan turned an ugly shade of red and busied herself with the pastry on her plate while a few of the less virtuous maids of honour hid their giggles behind their napkins.

"You do look as if you had a very good night though," Anne whispered into Cat's ear with a small, devilish grin. "And your husband looks as if he was introduced to the finer arts of France last night."

Now it was Cat's turn to blush.

"I am a married woman, dear marquess. I like to think I have done nothing more than my duty."

"I know how very seriously you take your duties. Especially those as a lady in waiting. That must be why you have waited on me this morning – Oh, pardon me, no, not at all indeed. I spent my morning with a few silly geese, my darling sister included, and some dried up women, my dear sister-in-law amongst them, while you were nowhere to be found."

"Well, there was a little … issue."

"That small, truly?" Anne gave Cat a wicked grin. "I wouldn't have thought the duke –"

"I fear France is bad for you, dear marquess. You used to be such a virtuous lady but now you talk like a swineherd. I'll tell you later. You will like it very much."

"I hope so. Otherwise I fear I have to force you to spend the evening with Lady Rochford and my sister, as punishment."

"And who would you spend the evening with?"

Anne's gaze went to the king, bold in blue and gold next to the French king. Henry looked back at her with unconcealed hunger.

"I think I might find myself a willing companion…"

"I fear your morals are deteriorating rather quickly, dearest Anne."

"Not quickly enough I fear." Anne took a sip of the light French wine. Henry had still not taken his eyes off her although he was engaged in a conversation with Charles and King Francis. Charles winked at Cat, then a grim expression replaced the smirk.

"Madame la Marquise. No star shines brighter than you." It was Guillaume de Laval. He knew Anne from her days in France, though not as well as Catherine, fortunately. Henry might have reacted differently to his story than Charles.

"Monsieur de Laval! Enchantée." Anne did not get up to greet him but her smile was genuine.

"And the beautiful Duchess. A good morning to you, madame."

"Thank you, monsieur."

"Will I meet the ladies in the gardens later? Ice sculptors from Italy have made their way to Paris to be received by the King of England and his future queen."

Anne was pleased. "You may meet us there if you think of some more original compliments until then, monsieur." She waved him away with a smile, then she saw Cat's face.

"You look like an ice sculpture yourself. What has he done to receive such a cool greeting?"

Lady Rochford tried hard to look occupied but Cat saw that she strained her ears in order to catch this part of their conversation.

"Oh, nothing. I just never liked his empty flattery, 'tis all."

Of course Anne understood.

Later, when they dressed for the gardens, Anne asked Cat to help her with the heavy fur cloak while the other ladies were waiting in the audience chamber.

"So, what is the matter with Laval?"

"He talked to me yesterday night during the reception ball. He mentioned his brief courtship and other things, hinted at more – I don't know at what exactly. He said he would tell Charles about everything that happened in France if I wasn't _courteous_ to him."

"So you told Charles before he could, your loving husband forgave you and you thanked him for his loyalty the French way?"

One day Cat would stop blushing and that would be a very fine day.

"I do not know what Guillaume wants. There is nothing I could give him – "

"Have you considered that he just likes the power he holds over you? He was in love with you once, perhaps this is his way of getting revenge?"

That did make sense. Men and their hurt pride often went to great lengths to take vengeance.

"Well, Charles and I will not let him."

"The Duke and Duchess of Suffolk join forces. Monsieur de Laval, brace yourself for thunder and lighting." Anne laughed. "Oh, I will enjoy this."

She pulled the cloak over her velvet skirt and Cat helped her smooth it over the fabric.

"Lovely."

"Well, I hope so. The king's sister and his cousin will pay us a visit here tonight and I will have to look exquisite."

After the Queen of France had refused to receive her, Anne had been furious but Queen Eleanor, a Habsburgian who had succeeded sweet Queen Claude upon the latter's death, was a niece of Katherine of Aragon and therefore naturally opposed Henry's remarriage. King Francis didn't pay her much heed and had advised Anne and Henry, both furious, to do the same.

Today for the ice sculpture competition the King of France would come to see them with his mistress once again, the Duchesse d'Étampes.

Anne had vowed to treat the royal mistress with all due respect this time and she would now have a chance to prove her sincerity, even twice.

Francis had planned for their little party to go to a royal lodge just outside Calais in painted barges and dance in a hastily planned masque that very night. Afterwards they would reward the best ice sculptors and dance and feast until the small hours of the morning.

Anne and her ladies had left the warmth of the castle to admire the sculpturers' work. They were indeed beautiful. There were sweet maidens, Greek goddesses, oversized flowers and graceful animals. The ice glittered like crystal in the soft winter sun.  
Anne was chatting to the Duchesse d'Étampes and Catherine had seized the opportunity to be alone with her thoughts for a moment. Not that a certain person would respect her apparent wish for privacy.

"They remind me so much of you, Your Grace." Guillaume had stepped beside her, soft-footed and silent as always. "So beautiful...but so cold."

Catherine gave him a smile that could have frozen the channel. "Careful you don't get frostbite then, Monsieur."

He had the audacity to laugh, a little jolly chuckle. He was completely undisturbed by her threat. He still thought he held power over her.

"I do not believe you would bite me, my lady."

"'Your Grace' for you."

"You are not foolish enough to bite the hand that holds _compromising_ information. You are all bark and no bite, like a good lady should be."

He took her gloved hand. "You must be cold, certainly? Let me warm your hands."

"If you allow, Mr Laval, that is my duty." Charles had nonchalantly pushed him aside, put an arm round Catherine's waist and turned his back on Laval. "Forgive me, love, the king wished to see me." Charles ignored Guillaume completely and Cat was certain only she could see the shimmer of malicious glee in her husband's eyes.

"How cruel of him to deprive your wife of your company," Catherine chirped.

"I will refuse him next time. No ruler could ask of a man to leave a wife like you alone. The sharks will think it weakness and attack." Charles kissed her forehead, then her cheek.

Catherine wiggled her fingers. "I might not have fangs but I have a cat's claws."

Charles kissed her temple. "Oh, as if I didn't know." He was the only one who could give this sentence such a saucy double entendre that Cat blushed.

"For you, I'll be a lap cat," she smiled the same sickeningly sweet way as Nan Savage when she looked at the Baron Berkeley. Charles covered a fit of laughter with a cough.

"You know," he whispered into her ear and his hot breath made her skin tingle, "I ought to thank your friend Laval. I don't think you have ever been that nice to me, _little lap cat_ – ouch."

Cat had proven the effect of her claws.

She gave her husband a dazzling smile. Laval, who stood behind Charles smiled as well, in a way that promised he would continue to cause trouble.

"Your Grace," he approached Charles. "I do not think we have been formally introduced, although of course your lovely wife has told me all about you. Guillaume de Laval." He offered Charles a respectful bow. Charles did not bow back and raised an eyebrow.

"Strange, I never even heard a word about you." He smiled jovially. "So you know Cathy from her days in France?"

 _Cathy._ Charles had far too much fun with this.

Guillaume smiled pleasantly. "Yes, I have known Cathy for many years now." His use of Charles's nickname for her was plump and too familiar but Charles pretended not to notice.

"Wonderful. So you must know each other well. Why did you never tell me about your French friends, my darling?" he turned to Cat who pretended to be lost for words.

"I never found the right moment, I guess."

"Yes, I would say I got to know her very well indeed." Guillaume flashed Catherine a quick warning look. "Perhaps we find the time for a chat sometime,Your Grace. His Majesty the King encourages his courtiers to get well acquainted with our English friends. The competition is over soon, I think, I have to return to my duty."

"Oh, we have to! There's no drinking companion like a Frenchman, I always say. Especially if you choose the wine." Charles laughed again, absolutely guilelessly.

"And no one who drinks like an Englishman," Guillaume replied. "À bientôt, Your Grace, then. Cathy."

Guillaume didn't bother to hide his smugness when he kissed Catherine's hand. His lips left a wet stain on the dark leather.

When he was gone, Charles grinned. "And, how was I?"

"It is the theatre's loss you have opted for court life. What an actor you would have become, celebrated by the masses and loved by the women."

"I see no difference to my current state."

"Ignorance is bliss." Cat kissed him. "I have to give him the chance to blackmail. Later perhaps, during the dance."

"Do it on the barge. I won't let that squid dance with you and his grease fingers would stain your dress."

"And I thought you didn't care about fashion."

"I know, I just like to surprise you from time to time. You know of course that you have to dance with me all night to make up for this?"

He lifted his left hand on which her nails had left pink traces.

"I better fetch a priest, you won't survive that wound."

"I would rather confess to you."

"What do you wish to confess, my child?"

Charles pulled her close. "Carnal thoughts."

His warm breath on her neck sent shivers down her spine but Catherine had to laugh.

"Of course. There are puddles deeper than you."

"In your sonnet you wrote that you could drown in the blue gulfs of my eyes."

Catherine raised an eyebrow.

"Not your sonnet? Well, it is hard to keep track, all the poems I receive every day." Charles carefully evade her nails by closing his own fingers around hers.

"Do you write them all yourself or why are they so poorly written?"

"Yes, continue, hurt my pride. It takes away the pain from my hand."

Cat had to laugh out loud. "You are a fool."

"I confess, I think I would look dashing in motley."

"You think you look dashing in everything."

"You think so too."

"Why have I married you again?"

"Now it's too late for reason, my lady." He kissed her cold fingers. "Will you dance with me tonight?"

"I might, my lord." Catherine turned away from him with a smile.

"How can I sway you, sweet Catherine?"

"Don't sway all that much tonight."

He laughed. "I vow that I will be a perfect gentleman."

"You should not make promises you cannot keep."

"I will woo you and I will win you." He grinned. Truly, he loved playing games so much, she thought she was married to a child.

There was applause at the other end of the sculpture lined path. Cat recognised Anne in her blue and golden cloak and the French king's mistress who wore her golden hair loose under a milan bonnet.

"Anne looks happy."

Charles smiled but Cat saw the strain. These two would perhaps never be friends and that was the only thorn in her side.

"I know she is looking forward to seeing the Queen of Navarre again."

Marguerite of Navarre was the French king's sister and the person Catherine had always admired most. When she had come to France as a little girl, she had been frightened of her, the most learned woman of Christendom. But the Queen of Navarre, who had been Duchesse d'Alençon back then, had not been proud and haughty and stiff at all. Catherine had been allowed to read to her and she had told her all about her books and her correspondence with Erasmus. Now, so many years later, she was still nervous to see her again.

"She originally refused to come. Francis then ordered the Duchess of Vendôme to welcome Lady Anne and tried to persuade his sister to receive the future Queen of England. Apparently, it worked, but do not expect her to be very welcoming. She does not approve of the king's fiancée, I fear."

Well, Charles didn't either. Marguerite had always liked Anne and Anne had admired and emulated her as a young girl. She would be hurt if the Queen of Navarre treated her unkindly.

"If she has decided to receive her, she will not be unkind. We were at her court at girls whenever Claude was pregnant and needed no assistance from two maids of honour. Anne has been so looking forward to seeing her."

"And so have you," he smiled.

"Of course. You have met her. She is so charismatic and impressive."

"She is impressive...but Francis finds her very changed. Her only son died a year ago, still a babe, on Christmas Day."

Catherine had heard that sorry tale. The Queen was over fourty, she could not hope for a son. She had only a daughter, a clever, spirited young girl. Of course she felt with Katherine of Aragon.  
The guilt came without a warning. They were here and they were merry while the Queen was at home in some cold castle without anyone to distract her from her troubles. Cat had been her Jude. She had betrayed her Queen and here she stood and celebrated her illoyalty.

Anne waved, said something to the two kings at her sides, and together, they walked over to them, followed by a train of courtiers.

"And, which one do you find most impressive?" She was in a great mood, her cheeks flushed and her dark eyes sparkling with amusement. "This king," she touched Henry's arm, "singled a beautiful siren out as his favourite, while this king," she touched Francis' arm, "was fondest of an excellent likeness of the goddess Aphrodite. I cannot decide."

Catherine agreed. It was almost impossible to decide. Almost. Her favourite was a swan, not portrayed swimming, with its wings neatly folded and its long neck elegantly bowed. It had its wings half spread out, ready for flight, and the long neck was straight as a lance, the head raised high and the eyes focused on the far horizon.

"It is difficult indeed," Charles smiled, then turned to the statues. "But that swan has conquered my heart."

Catherine took his hand. "You have stolen my favourite," she accused him.

"And I thought I was your favourite, madame," he quipped and the French king laughed. "Mademoiselle Cathérine has always been fond of swans. I remember you used to wear one on a chain, made from mother of pearl and sapphires."

"I did." She was surprised he remembered.

"That sounds so very beautiful." The Duchesse d'Étampes seemed intrigued. "Swans are so elegant and strong. I like to watch them on the Seine or in the ponds in the gardens. Perhaps we will see some tonight in the barges. I am looking forward to the masque, it will be truly magnificent." She had a pretty smile and a soft voice.

"Oh, so am I. But we may not give away too much." Anne wore her usual smile, the one that spoke of secrets and gave promises. The masque was very… French. The costumes were light and airy and Cat imagined the whores of Ancient Rome had worn something similar. But this was France and Anne was about to be queen and there was nothing or no one who could stop her.

Henry looked at Anne with dark eyes. "Oh, I am certain tonight will be magical." He glanced sideways at his friend. "Don't you think so, Charles?"

Charles put a hand on Cat's shoulder, smiled and glanced into the distance where Laval was ordering about a few sculptors.

"Oh, yes. This night will hold a few surprises for some of us."

His gaze dropped to Anne and he smiled at her before winking at Henry.

Something was going on here and a quick look at Anne told Cat that she didn't know either. And the king smiled in a way that told them both he enjoyed his secret too much to give it away.

"I love surprises."

* * *

Bjosefine: Thanks for your review! That one really made me kick my behind and finish this chapter!

Unique16: Yes, children and heirs were such a big topic for the aristocracy and that really put pressure on women (yep, looking at you, Henry) and I just wanted to include that, too. :) Thank you for commenting!

ShinyRedPenny: Thank you so much for your sweet words of encouragement, I will look at your review whenever I feel that my English language skills are inadequate :D

Yes, Henry I'm-gonna-divorce-you-cause-you-don't-have-a-son Tudor is totally in the position to tell Charles not to pressure her ;) I have that part planned ut and it's going to be fun and drama and fluff. I'm not sure about the relation yet, maybe 15-70-15^^

I'll start my prayers tonight then! I also have to catch up with your stories actually, I had this pang of guilt everytime I was on ff. net so I never really read my faves. Also means I have something to look forward to!

Guest: I feel you! Perhaps it's because there was so much real life angst for Anne, we just want her to have the perfect happy ending in fiction at least.

Xenocanaan: I thank you for your review! Well there's more now and there will be more in the future. Pinky promise.


	25. Chapter 25

**Château de Calais**

 **~o~**

 **Charles**

The masque was very… French. The costumes were light and airy and he imagined the whores of Ancient Rome had worn something similar. Not that he minded much, Catherine was a delight in her low cut airy dress. He had half a mind to sneak out during the dance but of course, there was this unpleasant business with Laval.

Charles put his hand low on her back when the dance brought them back together. "You look ravishing."

She smiled. "I can see you are about to ravish me."

His hand wandered a little lower. "Not without your consent, my lady. I mean, we do have a lesson to teach still but I was always fondest of the breaks when I was tutored."

"You surprise me. And here I am thinking you loved theology most."  
He gave her backside a quick squeeze. "That came second. Now, where is your spurned lover?"

"He was never my lover, Charles." He knew that of course but he loved the pink that had risen to her cheeks and the embarrassed look on her face.

"He says so." He grinned. "Ah, there he is. I will leave you to him. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"There is something you wouldn't do?" Cat whispered but she only heard Charles chuckle as he headed over to the royal table.

"Mademoiselle Cathérine." Laval was faster than a pig fleeing from the bathtub. "A word?"

She nodded, defeated. They stood by the side of the dancefloor, looking upon the dancing couples with feigned interest.

"Now, your husband seems to be guileless, my dear. I assume you prefer it that way?"

"I do indeed, monsieur."

"Oh Cathy. Are we not long past these formalities?"

She said nothing.

"I could of course keep my mouth shut. You remember, he invited me to drink wih him? I can get… comment-on-dit...loquacious after a few cups. Is there anything you can give me to remember this conversation?"

"What do you want?"

"You are wearing a fine bracelet there. A wedding gift? You know of course that not much coin is coming my way anymore...you would not mind to help out an old friend?"

"N-no."

"I thank you. But still... as generous as your gift is, it is just not remarkable enough. Do you know which memory I will cherish forever?"

Cat shook her head. She was beginning to feel queasy.

"Our kiss, Cathy." His hand found hers and squeezed it.

"Shall we go and find a more private place… to talk?"

Cat nodded. She saw Charles to her left, hidden from Laval's view but more attentive than he had ever been at mass.

Laval lead her out of the ballroom and into an empty corridor. Left, right, right and right again they went and Cat only hoped that Charles could keep track.

"Here. Now, isn't this a comfy?"

A chest of drawers stood here, next to a carved chair. Neither of both objects looked comfy in the slightest.

"Well, Cathérine, the truth is: I could never forget you. Your beauty and your charme and your sweet character. There might have been other women, well, I am full of joie de vivre, but you were always special." He touched her leg and she felt his hand through the thin fabric of her dress. Cat shivered.

"I feel the same." Laval came uncomfortably close.

"Now, love, if you don't want me telling your husband all sorts of things, later, you know how to convince me, I assume. Raise your skirt a little, so that I can get a glimpse."

Cat shuddered again. Laval's hands were on her now and she pushed but he wouldn't move. Where was –

"You take your dirty hands off her." Charles had Laval pinned against the wall in seconds. Laval's feet dangled inches above the floor and his face began turning red.

"You talk to her again, you lose your tongue. You touch her again, you're dead." He did not ask whether Laval had understood. Charles considered him for a moment, then he hit him right in the face. Laval's nose crunched when it broke and bright red blood shot out of it.

Charles dropped him like something disgusting he had picked up accidentally.

"The king will hear of this." Laval said in a whiny nasal voice. "I vow –"

"A vow of silence? A wonderful idea. And yes, the king _will_ hear of this. In fact, he already has. I've taken the liberty of telling him in your place. And when you led my lady wife out of the ballroom...well, I assume you will grow fond of the countryside. The swineherds are better company than generally assumed."

Charles wiped his bloody knuckles on Laval's shirt, then offered Cat a hand.

She took it and they ran together.

"I was almost too late." Charles kissed her. "I am so sorry, love. He knows this castle better than I do."

Cat brushed a few strands of hair out of his handsome face. "You were there exactly when I needed you. All is well." She smiled. "And now...wasn't there something you wanted to do… regarding this dress?"

Charles grinned. "Indeed. A true lady should not wear such a rag. I'll take care of it."

 **~o~**

 **Anne**

 **~o~**

France was a dream and she never wanted to wake up. Katherine was waiting in England, and all her enemies were surely using her absence to forge their plans. _Well, let them. Haven't I taken them down every time?_ She had. But the day would come when she could not. And that thought haunted her.  
"Which nightgown will you wear tonight, my lady?"

Nan Savage was the most recent addition to her growing train of followers. She was sweet and eager and had her head in the clouds and she reminded her of Catherine when she had come to France. Eager to please and somehow lost in the fancy court dresses her father had commissioned for her. Looking at Nan was looking back in time and she always became uncomfortably aware how much time she had spent with fighting. She had not lost her youth yet, nor her looks, but time was not working in her favour.

"The embellished one. His Majesty's gift."

Nan's eyes widened for a moment. Anne had never worn this most costly nightgown before. She had reserved it for a special moment, originally. She had reserved it for her wedding night. But Henry had announced he would come later to celebrate their victory and Anne had nothing better to wear. Perhaps it would remind him not to tarry any longer. Henry was certain it would all work out this time but he had been certain too often to make her feel certain this time. He was, in many respects, a child. She loved his youthful energy, she loved his self-centeredness and she loved his determination. Nothing had ever stood in his way before so he was certain he could have everything he wanted. Anne was a fighter and she was only too familiar with things getting in her way. It had happened in France, it had happened at home, it had happened at court. When she had lost Henry Percy, she had sworn she would never yield again. And she hadn't.

She had won the main prize, he was probably standing next to the French king right now, admiring one of Da Vinci's paintings. She had won him and she had won his love, and he hers on top. Anne had also sworn never to be ruled by feelings again. But Henry had swept her off her feet although she had filled her boots with stones and clung to the ground like an English oak. She was almost there. They were almost there. And while to Henry, this 'almost' was a cause for celebration, for Anne it was cause for extra higher you rose, the closer you were to the thing you desired most, the more the fall would hurt. Here, she was almost a queen, although Eleanor of Austria did not seem to agree. Here, she ruled _almost_ supreme. But back home, everything was different. She had to forge her iron but she was not sure into which shape. Francis had assured them of his loyalty but he was a Frenchman and the pope's puppet, Anne expected nothing. Word of his support would reach England however and there, the French king could make an impact. Francis was young, attractive and decidedly French. The English people liked him and the English people disliked him but all took him for a man of importance and determination. His word had power in Europe.

This visit to France was not only a distraction, this was her first diplomatic visit as the queen. Katherine was discarded. She had a royal castle and her own small court but she was no threat. Henry had severed all ties. Katherine was not important anymore. Anne had vowed that this time, no one would stand between her and her love. Wolsey had been the first. Katherine was the second. And it would not end here. She would wear the wedding band on her finger and the crown upon her head. She had sacrificed everything for it.

The incident with the Duchesse d'Étampes had been unfortunate. She would have to learn to control her temper. She had today, Henry had told her how very pleased Francis was and how delighted Marguerite of Navarre had been. Today, she had acted like a queen, he had whispered and hot triumph had rushed through her veins.

Cat entered the bedchamber.

"There you are." Anne rose. "Where have you been all night?"

But Cat only smiled in a way that told Anne it had to do with her husband. Anne could not bear another tale about the Duke of Suffolk now. She was full of anxiety and the man… well, he did nothing to calm her.

"Your nightdress puts every court gown to shame." Cat's eyes raked over the rich embroidery, the pearls and diamonds that had been sewn onto the white silk.

Looking at Catherine was as if time stood still. Sure, she had changed over the years, but she always gave Anne the feeling that everything was fine. It was an air of continuous contentment, the feeling that no change was drastic enough to shake her. While Henry's boyishness and enthusiasm drove Anne forward, Catherine's soothing presence gave her much cherished moments of peace. Anne just wished, sometimes, when she was especially selfish, that Cat had married a different man, one whom Anne could trust. Suffolk was Henry's only loyal friend with the simple morals of a soldier. But Anne feared these simple morals failed to grasp the importance of certain deviations from morality, failed to understand the bigger picture. Suffolk did not like Anne, nor would he ever. Anne would have rather seen her two closest companions with another man but life had a habit of baking a hair into even the sweetest pie.

"I hope that shame is not the sentiment it evokes in the king," Anne smiled. She did not know what Henry wanted tonight. She knew he had entertained his secret, tonight he would reveal it. And Suffolk knew. Anne looked forward to being in on it and fumed at the thought that the duke knew more than her. She had no idea of the secret's nature, or she would have forgiven and forgotten right there and then.

Catherine grinned. "Only if he has taken an oath of chastity this afternoon."

"Well, he spent much time with Brandon, so I rule that one out."

"Just keep the laces tied and the skirt down, Lady Marquess."

"Yes, matron." Anne nudged her in the side. "There is nothing that can sway me anymore. He has tried everything. Only the wedding band will untie my laces." She was not aware how wrong she was.

"You are so very virtuous, an example of female chastity indeed." Cat brushed back Anne's shining dark locks and then made for the door. "I expect a detailed summary tomorrow. Good night. Sleep little."

The brush Anne threw after missed her by a few feet and she heard Cat giggle before she closed the door. Anne was alone now, waiting for her royal lover who was no lover in the true sense of the word...Not yet.

He came alone, without servants, and carried a bulky robe in his arms that he set down on a chair by the door.

No sign of a surprise.

"My love." He kissed her. "The best of nights. Francis is charmed, his sister his charmed and his mistress is delighted. We will have his support. He said to me that you are a queen in appearance, intellect and manner."

Of course he would say so. Anne sat down on the upholstered bench and smiled graciously. "He is too kind."

Henry grinned. "He is not kind enough. I, on the other hand, my darling...What are you willing to trade for my surprise?"

This was a game Anne knew well. "Why, Your Majesty." She crossed her legs so that Henry could catch a glimpse of her ankles, then leant back so that he could admire the shape of her naked body under the silk. "I offer you eternal gratitude."

Henry grinned and walked over to her without haste, like a lion that knew his prey was cornered. He knelt down next to her and ran his fingers through her long hair. He took a neatly curled lock and raised it to his lips, inhaled the scent, a perfume of roses and lily-of-the-valley, then kissed it.

"Eternal gratitude?" his eyes were glittering.

Anne raised her eyes to him, looked at him through her lashes. He loved it when she played it coy. He loved this game. "I would be your servant." He liked the idea, she knew he did. But today, he did not reply with the excited smile she knew so well, clouded with desire. Tonight, he grinned, then kissed her on the lips. "I would rather have you as my queen." He was giddy as a maiden when he jumped up and darted over to his piled cloak. He carried it to the bench.

"I would rather have you as my queen here and now."

He set it down on the costly rug and the fabric slipped.

It had not been a cloak. In the bundle, there was a chest of oak wood, inlaid with gold and jewels. He opened the golden clasp.

"I would rather have you, Anne Boleyn, as my queen. From this day forward. For better, for worse. Forever."

Anne was speechless. Glittering jewels lay before her eyes, rubies, diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, pearls, set in gold and silver. And on top of the pile lay a crown of gold and gemstones. These were the Queen's jewels. The crown jewels.

Henry couldn't contain his enthusiasm. "I had them altered for you. Only you are worthy of them. What do you think?"

He loved the expression of awe on her face. He had surprised her and he loved surprising her. He had wanted to give them to her earlier but there had never been the right moment. Today, when he had seen her in the masque, when he had seen how impressed Marguerite was, when he had seen the wway Francis looked at _his_ Anne although his mistress stood next to them, he had made his decision. What did he care about the pope? About the grumbling old lords? His own blood was still stirring, he was still young and it was his country. He was the King of England and it was time for change. Anne would be the queen every man desired. Anne would be his Portia, his Livia, his Helen of Constantinople.

She smiled, not graciously or slyly, she smiled honestly. He loved the joy on her face. Anne looked most beautiful when she was happy, perhaps that was one of the reasons why he loved spoiling her.

"I am truly the most happy, my king." Anne was for the first time in forever, uncertain how to react. He had given her the greatest treasure. Henry wouldn't be Henry if he didn't expect anything in return.

"The most happy. I like that. It will be your motto as Queen. That is what I will always strive to make you. The most happy."

Still on his knees, he kissed her. It was a chaste kiss and Anne was caught off guard. He expected nothing of that sort in return.

"Tomorrow, I will write to Cranmer. We will be wed soon, my love. Properly. Queen Anne of England. You will be crowned and the people of London will cheer the best queen the country ever had." He kissed her hand. And Anne made a decision.

She took one of the rings, one set with a ruby, the gemstone of love, and put it on the fourth finger of her right hand, where usually the wedding band would sit.

"Tonight, Henry, I consider myself a married woman."

He gazed up at her, it took him a moment, the it dawned on him.

"You mean…" he said, completely speechless. Was she truly offering what he thought she was offering?

"That only tonight, I will behave like the king's wife. To practise for role I will fulfil very soon." She was not completely certain that her decision was right and sensible but she wanted it. Oh God, she wanted this man. Her love for Henry was red hot as a smith's iron and she would forge it now with their shared passion. He had given her the thing she wanted most. The queen's crown, a royal wedding band of sorts. She would give him what he desired most. Only tonight, they would truly be husband and wife.

Henry was as giddy as a child before Christmas. "Then, my queen, I will do my duty as a husband." This time, his kiss was the opposite of chaste.

 **~o~**

 **Catherine**

 **~o~**

Anne was late. Anne was never late unless there was an advantage in it. But being late for mass was certainly nothing that would benefit her, definitely not in France.

She saw that some of the maids-in-waiting were whispering and was reminded of her own time in the old Queen's service. Queen Katherine had never been late for mass.

"Pardon." Anne entered, dressed in red and gold. A new necklace glittered at her throat. She surely knew how to make a dramatic entrance. "I did not catch a wink of sleep last night." She smiled uncharacteristically brightly. "Now, shall we?"

Something had happened. But of course, mass was not the time to discuss any progress in Anne's love life. Catherine thought that the priest's sermon had never taken as long as today but Anne and the king seemed to enjoy it more than ever. In fact, Henry grinned throughout the service, even when the priest started to pray for the dead. There was only one person that could make the king smile like this. So, what had Anne done to please him so? Had she...?

When the service was finally over, Cat was relieved.

"What happened?" she whispered as they walked to the great hall for breakfast, mindful of Lady Jane Boleyn's curious ears. Instead of replying, Anne shook back the sleeve of her gown, only a little, so that Cat, and no one else, could catch a glimpse at the bracelet. Catherine recognised it right away. It had been the Queen's. Now it was Anne's. Which meant that now, Anne was Queen in truly everything but name.

"The crown jewels?" Cat whispered. "And how did you thank him for that?"

At once, Henry's exceptionally good mood made sense. "Oh Anne. You are one lewd young lady."

"What can I say?" Anne grinned. "I was taught in France after all."

The other ladies in waiting caught up with them and Cat started babbling about the exceptionally nice weather and her new velvet cloak. Anne gave her a furtive smile. "Meet me after breakfast, down by the riverside. I want to tell you everything."

That morning, it had turned out that, maybe, Cat had something to tell her, too. Although it was perhaps a little early.

The whole court broke their fast together. Francis and Henry sat next to each other, giggling over honeyed nuts and fried bread like young maids of honour. Now, of course, Cat knew the reason. Charles had left his seat by the king's side to sit with his wife, a choice that Anne, in her elated mood, did not leave uncommented.

"Your Grace, you honour us with our presence. In fact, you fit in so nicely, I feel compelled to order a set of court gowns for you and make you a fine lady."

Some of the younger maids giggled, the older ladies knew about Charles's less amicable feelings for the Howard family in general and the Boleyn family in particular. Cat, sensing Charles's irritation, put a hand on his leg and smiled at Anne with warning eyes: "You cannot do this to me, Anne. No doubt he'd look finer in a gown then I do."

Charles squeezed her hand a little too tightly. "I doubt anyone looks finer than you do, Cat." His smile was forced. "Lady Anne, although you seem to value my presence so much, I have to disappoint you. The king might feel betrayed if I traded my doublet for a dress."

Anne was on guard again and there was the usual alertness in her gaze when she looked at Charles now, though her smile was as wide as before.

"Never would I deprive the king of his most loyal friend, Your Grace."

When Charles was gone, Cat leant over to Anne:

"What was that supposed to mean, Nan?"

Anne looked at the soft white bread on her plate. "I was just joking. Heaven knows, Cat, you have a prickly husband."

She did, actually. But that was part of his charm. The tension between Charles and Anne was still there, however, and Cat was unsure whether it would ever wane. The two of them were too competitive by half and there would never be a clear winner in this case.

 **~o~**

The rest of their stay in France passed without much excitement. But that was, perhaps, because the things that had happened could hardly be surpassed.

As the day of their departure neared, both Cat and Anne became more and more tense, though for entirely different reasons: For Anne, the stakes could not be higher. The next few weeks would decide her fate. She could not wait any longer. She had given everything and she would finally see, whether she had played her cards well.

Cat, however, was elated. The weeks had passed and she had become more certain with every passing morn. She would finally tell Charles on the ship… and hope that the Lord would be kind to her. There was always the risk but she would not have to carry the burden alone.

So while Anne spent the journey in her quarters, gambling and distracting herself, Cat had asked Charles to meet her on deck.

They sat down on a pile of unused sails.

"There is something I need to tell you," she started.

"If this is about Lady Anne – "

"It is not, actually. It is about us."

Charles looked troubled. "What is it?"

"I think I might be with child."

* * *

This took me forever to write. On the plus side, I wrote a lot about future events, kind of like story milestones. Quite a few deciding chapters are finished but these in-between chapters can be so tedious that I rather occupy myself with writing the fun parts. Also, I have a terribly time consuming real life at the moment that really gets in the way. This work, sleep, social life thing leaves little room for writing, which is annoying.

Admittedly, writing Anne's point of view was rather difficult for me (ShinyRedPenny, how do you do this so well?!) but I wanted to try it. It will probably not happen again, I prefer a little bit of the Anne Boleyn mystery preserved in this story.

Thank you for bearing with me! I won't abandon this story although it might take me ages to finish chapters.

I thank you all for your kind reviews, follows and favourites. I honestly don't derserve such nice feedback but I will try to be better next time, promise!

For those who talked about potential endings for Anne - I have something planned (and written, actually) now that I quite like. Stay tuned! It might take me half a century to actually come around to publish that, but we're all still young, right^^


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